Columbia  ©nibersitp 

mti)eCitpofi5etogork 


LIBRARY 


GIVEN    BY 


GIFT  OF 
H.  W.  WILSON 


HARRY  BUTTERS 

R.  F.  A. 


HARRY  BUTTERS 

R.  Fo  A. 

"AN  AMERICAN  CITIZEN'^ 

Life   and    War  Letters 

EDITED  BY  MRS.  DENIS  O'SULLIVAN 

WITH  TWELVE  PHOTOGRAPHS 


The  Brief  Record  of  a  California  Boy 
Who  Gave  His  Life  for  England 


NEW    YORK:     JOHN    LANE    COMPANY 

LONDON:    JOHN    LANE,  THE   BODLEY   HEAD 

MCMXVIII 


GIFT  OF 
H.  W.  WILSON 

MAR  2  2   1929 


Copyright,  1917. 
By  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 


"0  Passer-hy,  tell  the  Lacedemonians  that  we  lie  here 
obeying  their  orders."        J.  W.  MackaiVs  Translation. 


CONTENTS 


PART  I 

PAGE 

I   MR.  Garvin's  appreciation iS 

II     COLONEL  WINSTON  CHURCHILL's  LETTER.  22 

PART  II 

Life 25 

I    THE  PARENTS 3^ 

II    THE  CHILD       . 33 

III  THE  BOY 35 

IV  BEAUMONT 3^ 

V     EXETER 45 

VI    THE  father's  DEATH 47 

VII     IN  YOSEMITE 4^ 

VIII    AT  seventeen 5° 

IX     AROUND  THE  WORLD 5^ 

X     INTERMEDIATE  YEARS 59 

XI    THE  FORTUNATE  YOUTH ^2 

XII     BOLINAS ^3 

XIII  THE  TWENTY-FIRST  BIRTHDAY  ....  65 

XIV  WAR ^7 

XV     DEPARTURE ^ 

XVI     ENGLAND 70 

XVII     OFF  TO  THE  FRONT 74 

7 


8'  CONTENTS 

PART  III 

PAGF 

Letters  and  Comment 75 

i   leaving  home 77 

ii    getting  a  commission 8l 

III  IN  TRAINING lOO 

IV  ARRIVAL  IN  FRANCE I30 

V     BATTLE  OF  LOOS I45 

VI     WINTER 176 

VII     FIRST  LEAVE  FROM  THE  FRONT         .       .       .  220 

VIII     SPRING 225 

IX     SHELL  SHOCK 258 

X     LAST  LEAVE 263 

XI     RETURN  TO  FRANCE 265 

XII     TWO  BOYS 273 

XIII  GERARD 274 

XIV  AUGUST  LETTERS 280 

PART   IV 

Finis 289 


ILLUSTRATIONS 
HENRY  L.  BUTTERS Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAGE 


THE  CHILD 32 

ALTA  VISTA 34 

FIVE  YEARS  OLD 36 

BEAUMONT  COLLEGE,  OLD  WINDSOR         ....  44 

THE  BOY 48 

ON  THE  **DRUMMUIR" 58 

BOLINAS 66 

CAMPING  OUT  AT  TAHOE 68 

ARRIVAL  AT  STOW-ON-THE-WOLD 98 

MOUNTED 144 

THE  LAUGHING  CAVALIER 264 


Very  cordial  thanks  are  due  to  J.  L.  Garvin,  Esq., 
for  permission  to  use  his  article  in  the  Observer  of 
September  lo,  191 6,  and  to  Colonel  the  Hon.  Win- 
ston Churchill  for  his  letter  of  the  same  date.  Also 
to  George  Sterling,  Esq.,  for  his  sonnet;  to  those 
friends  who  have  allowed  the  Editor  to  quote  from 
private  letters;  to  Henry  Charles  Dickens,  Esq.,  for 
his  snapshot  of  Beaumont;  to  Mrs.  Helen  Dornin 
Childs  for  hers  of  Alt  a  Vista;  to  Mrs.  Southworth  for 
hers  of  Bolinas;  to  Miss  Genevieve  Leonard  for  No. 
Vni  and  to  Miss  Alice  Evans  for  No.  IX. 


PART  I 


MR.  GARVIN'S  APPRECIATION 

From  the  Observer,  London,  September  lo,  1916. 
HOW   AN    AMERICAN   THOUGHT   AND   DIED 

We  hope  that  the  readers  of  The  Observer  to- 
day will  bow  their  heads  in  honour  and  in  rever- 
ence of  a  splendid  young  American  citizen,  Sec- 
ond Lieutenant  Harry  Butters,  of  California.  He 
has  laid  down  his  life  for  England,  the  country 
he  loved  next  to  his  own  and  for  the  Allies'  cause 
he  held  to  be  the  best  and  greatest  that  had  ever 
been  at  stake  in  the  world.  At  the  age  of  twenty- 
four  he  was  killed  on  Thursday  night,  August  31, 
by  the  same  shell  that  killed  his  battery  com- 
mander.   He  was  no  ordinary  man. 

As  his  example  and  purpose  are  better  under- 
stood, his  memory  will  win  more  than  a  passing 
thought  from  many  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic 
who  never  knew  him.  Those  who  did  know  him 
on  this  side  mourn  with  deep  sadness  his  early 
death,  and  will  always  hold  him  in  mind  with 
affectionate  pride.  He  is  to  be  honoured  not  only 
like  our  own,  but  with  especial  gratitude.  Our 
own  boys  go  forth  in  a  temper  that  makes  dross  of 
all  careful  egotism  in  respect  of  their  safety  or  any 
other  personal  interest.  But  they  go  forth  in 
duty.    This  American  boy — and  what  a  straight, 

15 


i6  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

upstanding  pattern  of  youth  and  strength  he  was 
— owed  us  no  duty  and  he  gave  us  all.  He  gave 
it  not  impulsively  nor  in  adventurous  recklessness, 
but  with  a  settled  enthusiasm  belonging  to  ''the 
depth  and  not  the  tumult  of  the  soul."  How  much 
he  gave  is  worth  considering.  His  personal  en- 
dowments and  opportunities  were  such  that  when 
he  made  up  his  mind  to  quit  everything  in  his 
bright  California  and  to  come  into  the  war,  his 
choice  was  heroic  in  the  fullest  sense  of  that  word. 
Born  in  California,  he  was  early  taken  to  South 
Africa,  where  his  family  had  business  connections; 
he  was  the  only  son  of  the  late  Henry  Butters,  of 
San  Francisco,  who  had  large  interests  in  mines 
and  railways.  He  was  the  nephew  and  heir  of 
the  well-known  mining  engineer,  Mr.  Charles  But- 
ters, who  is  still  resident  on  the  Pacific  slope.  The 
boy  who  was  to  die  in  action  as  a  British  officer 
was  educated  at  first  in  California,  but  then  came 
to  this  country  and  went  to  Beaumont  College, 
Old  Windsor.  There  he  learned  to  know  the 
meaning  of  England,  her  scenes,  her  history,  and 
he  was  enchanted.  He  was  devoted  to  his  school. 
That  devotion,  one  thinks,  played  its  part  in  bring- 
ing him  back  when  he  thought  that  the  old  land 
was  in  the  fight  for  all  her  centuries,  that  she  too 
might  have  kept  out  of  it,  but  that  her  cause  was 
pure  and  glorious,  that  her  entry  into  the  struggle 
was  a  saving  decision  in  the  everlasting  choice  be- 
tween right  and  wrong. 


MR.  GARVIN'S  APPRECIATION     17 

THE   CHOICE 

When  he  went  back  to  America  he  was  a  young 
man  of  mark,  framed  to  excel  both  in  sport  and 
affairs.  He  was  very  tall,  supple,  active,  frank 
and  comely  of  face,  as  gay  as  he  was  good-look- 
ing. You  saw  by  a  glance  at  his  hands  that  he 
had  a  born  instinct  for  management  and  technique. 
He  had  been  a  good  deal  at  sea.  He  knew  all 
about  horses  and  motor-cars.  He  was  a  crack 
shot  and  a  fine  polo  player.  His  business  abihty 
was  shown  as  soon  as  he  took  over  the  manage- 
ment of  his  father's  estates.  With  this  practical 
talent  that  could  turn  itself  to  anything  he  had 
other  qualities.  One  remembers  what  a  delight- 
ful level  measuring  glance  he  used  to  give  suddenly 
from  under  his  brows  when  he  had  finished  rolling 
a  cigarette  and  went  on  with  his  keen  questioning 
about  men  and  things.  To  talk  with  him  was  to 
receive  a  new  and  promising  revelation  of  the 
mind  of  young  America.  Like  so  many  of  our 
own  young  soldiers  in  their  attitude  towards  poli- 
tics, he  was  not  content  with  either  of  the  old 
parties  in  the  United  States.  He  thought  that  his 
own  generation  if  it  was  earnest  enough  might 
make  a  better  hand  both  of  social  problems  and 
world  relations.  He  hoped  to  play  his  part. 
Though  he  always  thought  of  himself  in  a  fine 
spirit  as  "an  American  citizen,"  he  wanted  the 
United  States  to  take  a  full  share  in  the  wider  life 
of  the  world,  and  especially  to  work  as  far  as 
possible  for  common  ideals  with  the  whole  Eng- 
lish-speaking race. 


i8  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

So  when  the  news  of  the  war  came  to  San  Fran- 
cisco he  put  aside  as  fair  a  prospect  of  wealth, 
success,  happiness  and  long  life  as  could  well  open 
before  a  young  man,  and  determined  to  throw  in 
his  lot  with  the  old  country  and  the  Allies  In  the 
fight  for  civilisation  against  all  the  armed  might 
of  lawless  iniquity  which  had  flung  itself  on 
Belgium. 

He  was  then  twenty-two.  He  arrived  in  Eng- 
land In  the  early  part  of  19 15  to  join  the  British 
Army,  and  no  military  eye  could  doubt  that  the 
British  Army  had  a  rare  recruit.  Harry  Butters 
got  his  first  commission  in  the  nth  Royal  War- 
wickshire Regiment.  Afterwards  his  technical 
faculty  found  more  congenial  scope  when  he  trans- 
ferred to  the  R.  F.  A.  While  training  he  stayed 
a  good  deal  at  the  Rectory,  Stow-on-the-Wold, 
Glos.  The  Rector  writes: — ''He  was  a  warm- 
hearted, fearless  young  officer — as  fine  an  Ameri- 
can gentleman  as  ever  crossed  the  Atlantic."  It  is 
much  to  say,  but  it  is  true. 

A  SPLENDID  TESTAMENT 

When  we  went  to  the  front  last  year  he  saw 
heavy  fighting  in  the  British  offensive  of  Sep- 
tember, 19 1 5.  He  described  that  action  with 
graphic  directness  in  a  long  letter  which  was 
printed  in  the  San  Francisco  Argonaut  last  Janu- 
ary. That  letter  at  the  end  changed  its  tone  and 
ended  with  words  which  may  well  stand  in  remem- 
brance on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  as  the  con- 


MR.  GARVIN'S  APPRECIATION      19 

fesslon  of  faith  of  an  American  citizen  in  the 
Great  War. 

"I  am  now  no  longer  untried.  Two  weeks'  action  in  a 
great  battle  is  to  my  credit,  and  if  my  faith  in  the  wisdom 
of  ray  course  or  my  enthusiasm  for  the  cause  had  been  due 
to  fail  it  would  have  done  so  during  that  time.  But  it  has 
only  become  stronger.  I  find  myself  a  soldier  among  millions 
of  others  in  the  great  Allied  armies  fighting  for  all  I  believe 
right  and  civilised  and  humane  against  a  power  which  is  evil 
and  which  threatens  the  existence  of  all  the  right  we  prize  and 
the  freedom  we  enjoy. 

"It  may  seem  to  you  that  for  me  this  is  all  quite  uncalled 
for,  that  it  can  only  mean  either  the  supreme  sacrifice  for 
nothing,  or  at  best  some  of  the  best  years  of  my  life  wasted; 
but  I  tell  you  that  not  only  am  I  willing  to  give  my  life  to 
this  enterprise  (for  that  is  comparatively  easy  except  when  I 
think  of  you),  but  that  I  firmly  believe — if  I  live  through  it  to 
spend  a  useful  lifetime  with  you — that  never  will  I  have  an 
opportunity  to  gain  so  much  honourable  advancement  for  my 
own  soul  or  to  do  so  much  for  the  cause  of  the  world's  prog- 
ress, as  I  have  here  daily  defending  the  liberty  that  mankind 
has  so  far  gained  against  the  attack  of  an  enemy  who  would 
deprive  us  of  it  and  set  the  world  back  some  centuries  if  he 
could  have  his  way.  I  think  less  of  myself  than  I  did,  less 
of  the  heights  of  personal  success  I  aspired  to  climb,  and  more 
of  the  service  that  each  of  us  must  render  in  payment  for  the 
right  to  live  and  by  virtue  of  which  only  we  can  progress. 

"Yes,  my  dearest  folks,  we  are  indeed  doing  the  world's 
work  over  here,  and  I  am  in  it  to  the  finish." 

That  is  a  magnificent  letter  in  the  height  of 
character,  the  earnestness  of  thought,  the  steady 
strength  of  mind  and  heart  it  reveals.  None  of 
us  can  read  it  without  being  moved  and  fortified. 
That  phrase  about  "honourable  advancement  for 
my  own  soul"  is  one  that  deserves  never  to  die. 
Rarely  has  the  cause  of  the  Allies  been  vindicated 
with  more  moral  force;  never  was  that  cause 
sealed  by  a  purer  sacrifice. 


20  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 


His  Captain  writes: — 

"He  was  with  his  guns  and  no  one  could  have  died  in  a 
nobler  way.  ...  He  was  one  of  the  brightest,  cheeriest  boys 
I  have  ever  known,  and  always  the  life  and  soul  of  the 
mess.  .  .  .  We  all  realised  his  nobility  in  coming  to  the  help 
of  another  country  entirely  of  his  own  free  will,  and  under- 
stood what  a  big  heart  he  had.     He  was  loved  by  all." 

He  Is  In  It  to  the  finish  Indeed  with  comrades 
of  his  adoption  who  have  passed  with  him.  He 
takes  his  last  sleep  out  there  with  so  many  of  the 
brave  and  true  where  none  was  braver  and  truer 
than  he,  and  amongst  the  recollections  of  the 
great  war  his  name  will  not  be  forgotten.  Beau- 
mont will  take  care  of  that.  In  his  old  college  we 
doubt  not  he  will  have  his  permanent  memorial. 
In  our  thoughts  the  flags  of  Britain  and  America 
cover  his  heart  with  double  honour.  We  shall 
never  see  them  entwined  again  without  thinking 
of  him.  No  American  can  read  these  lines  with- 
out being  proud  of  him.  No  Briton  can  read  them 
without  feelings  deeper,  more  moved,  than  can 
be  said  In  any  words.  We  are  grateful,  as  he 
would  have  liked,  to  his  America  that  bred  him. 
We  are  grateful  to  his  ^'dearest  folks,"  though 
they  were  not  all  with  him  In  his  course,  for  no 
man  could  be  what  he  was  without  being  the 
scion  of  a  strong  stock.  Since  he  came  from  Cali- 
fornia, what  epitaph  can  compare  with  these 
verses  of  Bret  Harte,  which  might  have  been 
written  for  Harry  Butters  and  never  suited  better 


MR.  GARVIN'S  APPRECIATION     21 

the  life  and  death  of  any  Californian  of  them 
all,  though  It  Is  a  gallant  State: — 

Hark!  I  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands 

And    of    armed   men    the   hum; 
Lo!   a  nation's  hosts  have  gathered 
Round  the  quick  alarming  drum — 
Saying,   "Come, 
Freemen,  come! 
Ere  your  heritage  be  wasted,"  said  the 
quick  alarming  drum. 

*'Let  me  of  my  heart  take  counsel: 

War  is  not  of  life  the  sum; 
Who    shall    stay   and   reap    the   harvest 
When  the  autumn  days  shall  come?" 
But  the  drum 
Echoed,  "Come! 
Death  shall  reap  the  braver  harvest," 
said  the  solemn-sounding  drum. 

This  was  not  signed,  hut  was  written  by  the 
Editor,  Mr,  J.  L.  Garvin, 


COLONEL  WINSTON  CHURCHILL'S 
LETTER 

From  the  Observer,  London,  September  lo,  1916. 
A   MEETING   AT   THE   FRONT 

"The  death  in  action  of  this  young  American 
gentleman  is  a  blow  to  the  many  friends  he  had 
made  for  himself  in  the  British  Army.  I  met  him 
quite  by  chance  in  his  observation  post  near  Ploeg- 
steert  and  was  charmed  by  his  extraordinary  fund 
of  wit  and  gaiety.  His  conversation  was  delight- 
ful, full  at  once  of  fun  and  good  sense  and  con- 
tinually lighted  by  original  reflections  and  captivat- 
ing Americanisms.  A  whole  table  could  sit  and 
listen  to  him  with  the  utmost  interest  and  pleasure. 
He  was  a  great  ^character,'  and  had  he  lived  to 
enjoy  his  bright  worldly  prospects  he  could  not 
have  failed  to  make  his  mark. 

*'He  was  a  very  good  soldier  and  competent 
artillery  oflficer,  very  well  thought  of  by  his  com- 
rades and  trusted  by  his  superiors.  He  had  seen 
much  service  in  the  front  line,  including  the  battle 
of  Loos,  and  came  through  unscathed  until  in  May 
last  a  bouquet  of  5.9  shells  destroyed  his  observa- 
tion post  and  stunned  him  with  shell  shock  and 
concussion.  Leave  was  pressed  upon  him,  but 
he  could  only  be  induced  to  take  a  few  days'  rest. 
In  little  more  than  a  week  he  was  back  at  the 

22 


MR.  GARVIN'S  APPRECIATION     23 

front — disdainful  as  ever  of  the  continual  threats 
of  death.  And  thus  quite  simply  he  met  his  fate. 
*No,  sir,  I  have  taken  no  oath  of  allegiance,  but 
I'm  just  as  loyal.' 

"I  venture  to  put  these  few  lines  on  paper  not 
because  his  sacrifice  and  story  differ  from  those 
of  so  many  others  in  these  hard  days,  but  because, 
coming  of  his  own  free  will,  with  no  national  call 
or  obligation,  a  stranger  from  across  the  ocean, 
to  fight  and  die  in  our  ranks,  he  had  it  in  his 
power  to  pay  a  tribute  to  our  cause  of  exceptional 
value.  He  did  not  come  all  the  way  from  San 
Francisco  only  out  of  affection  for  the  ancient 
home  of  his  forbears  or  in  a  spirit  of  mere  adven- 
ture. He  was  in  sentiment  a  thorough  Ameri- 
can. All  his  ordinary  loyalties  rested  with  his  own 
country.  But  he  had  a  very  firm  and  clear  con- 
ception of  the  issues  which  are  at  stake  in  this 
struggle.  He  had  minutely  studied  the  oflicial 
documents  bearing  upon  the  origin  of  the  war,  and 
he  conceived  that  not  merely  national  causes  but 
international  causes  of  the  highest  importance 
were  involved,  and  must  now  be  decided  by  arms. 
And  to  these  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  testify  'till 
a  right  peace  was  signed.'  Such  testimony  cannot 
be  impeached." 


PART  II 
LIFE 


FOREWORD 

We  who  are  truly  Californian  believe  our- 
selves still  too  young  for  the  completion  of  any 
history.  When  the  life^  the  American  life,  of  the 
State  itself  dates  from  iS^g,  how  has  there  been 
time  for  any  individual  drama? 

Yet,  coming  back  to  Piedmont,  which  I  last 
knew  in  i8gi,  when  a  delicious  spring  stretched, 
unobstructed,  in  green  vistas  down  to  the  isolated 
blue  jewel  of  Lake  Merritt,  I  realise  that  a  town 
has  encroached  upon  these  hills,  that  houses  have 
been  built,  have  grown  old,  have  even  been  re- 
placed. And  if  houses,  how  much  more  the  lives 
they  sheltered! 

One  such  house  stares  at  me  across  its  lawns 
and  opulent  overgrown  palms;  raises  the  mean- 
ingless turrets  and  gables  of  an  architecture  of 
the  early  nineties.  Piedmont  has  since  built  it- 
self so  beautifully  one  marvels  at  the  respect  it 
once  paid  these  big  ugly  expensive  homes.  Yet 
there  is  a  friendliness  about  them,  a  comfort  in 
the  low  steps  and  frequent  verandas,  an  ease  in 
the  opening  of  one  overfilled  room  into  another. 
And  around  them  is  all  the  luxuriance  of  flowers 
and  blue  sky  and  sunshine;  the  ample  spaces  of 
California,  the  clear,  clean,  invigorating  air, 

27 


28  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

//  any  world  is  to  produce  a  new  type,  surely 
'twill  he  this  world  between  the  Pacific  and  the 
Sierras,  where  beauty  and  lavishness  crowd  out 
meaner  aspects  .  .  .  where  cities  can  be  reborn 
in  ten  astounding  years  .  .  .  where  the  human 
plant  develops,  unhampered,  in  the  superb  air. 


This  air,  this  green  Piedmont,  this  big  yellow 
house,  sheltered  an  existence  so  splendidly  full  and 
vigorous  that  one  likes  to  think  it  an  embodiment 
of  California.  It  ended  in  twenty-four  years 
,  ,  ,  on  the  other  side  of  the  world,  in  one  blind- 
ing instant,  under  those  stars  that  look  down  on 
the  Somme. 


But  the  twenty-four  years  had  been  as  full  as 
a  slower  age  or  race  would  have  taken  twice 
twenty-four  to  equal.  They  promised  to  be  the 
forerunners  of  as  many  more,  and  as  many  more 
again,  of  all  that  life  can  give  of  gaiety,  of  happi- 
ness^ success,  men's  praise.  And  they  were  sacri- 
ficed, not  carelessly,  not  by  an  accident,  but  after 
serious  reflection,  in  an  alert  consciousness  of  the 
cost. 


California  has  perhaps  not  realised  the  mean- 
ing of  this  war.  The  issues  are  still  obscured  here. 
But  they  were  vivid  to  one  boy's  clear  eyes;  were 
sanely  considered;  the  logical  deduction  logically 
acted  upon;  the  price  paid. 


LIFE  29 

So  these  lovely  Piedmont  hills,  with  the  wide 
streets  and  new  houses  of  to-day,  the  wooden 
palaces  of  an  earlier  period;  with  Diablo  and  his 
fellow  mountains  rising  blue  behind  them;  before 
them,  San  Francisco  and  the  deep  Bay;  and,  al- 
ways splendid  and  serene,  Tamalpais  against  a 
western  sky  .  .  .  these  will  be  the  background  of 
other  stories.  But  shall  we  see  again  so  erect  and 
fine  a  figure  moving  gaily  out  of  certain  prosperity 
to  almost  certain  death? 


The  Igloo,  Piedmont, 
February,  igi^. 


THE   PARENTS 

Harry  Butters  was  born  in  San  Francisco,  In 
1892,  on  the  28th  of  April.  His  people  were 
New  Englanders  on  both  sides.  His  father, 
Henry  Augustus  Butters,  was  the  son  of  Henry 
Augustus  Butters  of  Andover,  Massachusetts,  and 
Sarah,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  G.  W.  Finney,  a 
Congregational  minister  from  Oneida  County, 
New  York. 

His  mother,  Lucy  Woodworth  Beebee,  was  the 
child  of  Isaac  Watts  Beebee  of  New  York,  and 
Georgiana  Woodworth,  whose  father,  Samuel 
Woodworth  of  Scituate,  Massachusetts,  wrote 
"The  Old  Oaken  Bucket,"  dear  to  the  American 
heart. 

The  original  Butters,  or  Butter,  came  from 
Scotland.  The  first  Finney  was  Irish;  the  first 
Woodworth,  English;  while  the  Beebee  pioneer 
was  French.  The  family  legend  was  that  he  came 
with  Lafayette.  Curious  if  the  first  of  his  line 
here  left  France  to  fight  for  America  .  .  .  and 
the  last  went  back  to  fight  for  France ! 

Some  lives  are  ruled  by  the  happy  little  god 
of  adventure.     If  Harry  Butters  was  predestined 

31 


32  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

to  an  extraordinary  shifting  of  the  dramatic,  his 
domestic  antecedents  but  prepared  the  way. 

His  father,  so  far  as  one  can  reconstruct  that 
striking  personahty,  was  a  big  man,  nervous, 
moody,  magnetic;  with  the  modern  American's 
capacity  for  great  business  schemes;  an  astonish- 
ing executive  ability;  a  compelhng  eloquence. 

A.11  these,  except  the  moodiness,  the  boy  in- 
herited .  .  .  and  had  he  lived,  would  perhaps 
have  undertaken  as  colossal  enterprises,  would 
have  flashed  Into  as  meteoric  successes  .  .  and 
failures  .  .  as  the  brilliant  father. 

CaHfornia,  South  Africa,  Switzerland,  France, 
Mexico,  and  California  again  .  .  .  these  were 
the  settings  of  Henry  Butters'  genius.  He  thought 
In  terms  of  provinces,  not  acres ;  of  world  markets. 
Building  railroads  or  houses,  engineering  tram- 
ways In  Geneva,  or  driving  four-in-hand  at  Bur- 
lingame,  he  was  possessed  of  that  unconquerable 
spirit  which  has  made  a  few  men  rise  In  glowing 
Intensity  from  the  dull  mass  of  the  rest  of  us. 

It  was  part  of  his  Intensity,  that,  meeting  the 
beautiful  widow  (from  whom  Harry  afterwards 
was  to  get  so  much  of  his  radiance  and  tender- 
ness), he  should,  a  year's  sad  widower  himself, 
sweep  her  in  a  few  glowing  months  off  her  feet 
into  her  third  matrimonial  alliance  .  .  .  marry- 
ing her  triumphantly  in  the  Catholic  Church  which 
he  himself  had  entered  only  after  knowing  her; 
adopting  the  two  little  girls  of  her  second  mar- 
riage; making  himself  the  genuine  friend  and  pro- 


J 


The  Child 


LIFE  33 

tector  of  the  children  of  her  first  .  .  .  and  finally, 
concentrating  all  the  rapture  of  his  existence  upon 
the  only  child  of  this  marriage,  Henry  Augustus 
Butters  the  third,  the  beloved  *'Harry"  of  this 
memoir. 


II 

THE    CHILD 

The  child  was  beautiful;  a  starry-eyed,  frank, 
vigorous  creature,  with  that  rare  gift,  magnetism, 
the  human  charm  that  draws  both  mind  and  heart. 
There  seems  (as  one  studies  old  letters  and  talks 
to  old  friends),  to  have  been  no  moment  when 
the  boy  was  not  adored.  A  world  of  sunshine, 
change,  luxury,  the  passionate  devotion  of  both 
parents,  the  affection  of  big  and  little  half-sisters 
and  half-brothers  whirled  about  him. 

In  his  first  ten  years  he  was  taken  five  times 
to  Europe,  twice  to  South  Africa.  There  were, 
wonderful  recollections  of  Kensington  Gardens, 
and  the  Royal  Palace  Hotel  near  by;  of  the 
Elysee  in  Paris ;  of  that  suite  in  the  Beau  Rivage 
at  Geneva,  where  just  before,  in  their  very  rooms, 
the  lovely,  tragic  Empress  of  Austria  had  breathed 
her  last;  of  Bailey's  Hotel  in  London,  where  South 
Africans  do  congregate;  of  Hampstead  Heath, 
where  he  played  under  the  kind  eyes  of  his  de- 
voted nurse  Carey,  with  a  little  unnamed  Rosa- 
mond; of  two  months  at  Hampton  Court,  where 


34  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

Harry  had  a  boat  on  the  Thames,  named  after 
him,  .  .  and  his  wonderful  father  used  to  drive 
his  four-in-hand  down  from  London  .  .  and  the 
child  himself  learned  to  drive. 

Then  long  summers  in  Shasta  county;  in  Lassen, 
where  his  father  owned  the  great  Constantia 
Ranch;  the  buying  of  a  whole  "block''  in  Pied- 
mont; the  building  of  Alta  Vista,  the  big  yellow 
house,  still  part  of  Harry's  estate,  that  looks  over 
at  me  now. 

Family  friendships  appear  dimly  through  the 
boy's  recollections  .  .  .  John  Hays  Hammond, 
his  handsome  wife,  and  the  Sackes  of  Johannes- 
berg  days;  "Uncle  Charlie,"  his  father's  only 
brother;  Emma  Carey,  the  fine  tall  nurse  who 
loved  him;  the  lively  family,  part  Edwards,  part 
Sengteller,  chief  of  whom  was  "Davy"  the  half 
brother,  David  Edwards,  always  a  strong  influence 
in  Harry's  life;  and  there  is  a  happy  remembrance 
of  Alta  Vista  when  so  many  of  the  big  family 
gathered  for  the  first  New  Year  there,  and  the 
father  wrote  a  little  piece  in  which  Harry,  then 
some  eight  years  of  age,  played  "Old  Time"  to 
the  general  amazement. 

And,  through  all  this,  the  child's  gay,  unspoiled 
presence  moves  enchantingly  .  .  in  the  great 
European  hotels,  where  the  usual  little  American 
is  a  horror,  or  in  the  woods  and  fields  at  home. 
One  Californian  friend,  Mr.  Harry  Smith,  writes 
of  him : 


LIFE  35 

"On  one  occasion,  up  at  Lierly's,  we  spent 
nearly  the  whole  day  together.  In  the  morning  I 
had  shouldered  my  rifle,  and  was  about  to  start 
alone,  on  a  'still  hunt'  for  deer.  I  caught  a  wist- 
ful look  in  his  great  eyes.  (He  couldn't  have  been 
more  than  seven  or  eight.)  I  asked  him  whether 
he  wouldn't  like  to  go  along  with  me.  His  instant 
*You  bet!'  dispelled  any  doubt.  He  Insisted  on 
carrying  the  lunch.  The  day  remains  vividly  In 
my  memory,  for  beyond  the  pretense,  I  don't  think 
I  even  looked  for  a  buck,  so  much  Interested  was  I 
In  his  talk.  Anyway,  deer  were  scarce  ...  so 
we  pretended  we  were  looking  for  Indians,  who 
had  burned  a  village  and  carried  off  a  beautiful 
girl.  It  was  our  duty  to  rescue  her.  He  couldn't 
have  been  more  natural  if  it  had  been  reality.  His 
earnest  and  whispered  counsel  that  we  must  be 
careful  not  to  be  ambushed,  was  secretly  amusing 
to  me.  I  surely  was  rewarded  for  taking  him 
along,  he  was  so  Interesting  and  companionable, 
so  modest,  without  the  slightest  suspicion  of  his 
own  brightness." 


Ill 

THE    BOY 

The  second  period  of  the  boy's  life,  which  was 
to  cover  family  tragedies,  opened  fittingly  on  the 
first  minor  note.  The  parents,  and  the  best  loved 
sister,  Lucile,  went  abroad.     The  child  was  left 


36  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

with  dear  "Grandma  Beebee,"  and  "Grandma 
Butters,"  but  In  the  care  of  an  English  tutor  who 
was  not  kind  to  him.  Luclle,  returning  alone  be- 
fore Thanksgiving,  summed  up  the  situation,  and 
took  the  small,  unhappy,  plucky  boy  Into  her  own 
hands.  Then  began  a  devotion  on  his  part  which 
lasted  his  life  out,  and  eventually  grew  into  the 
deepest  affection  of  his  existence. 

After  this,  the  first  school  .  .  .  Miss  Horton's 
in  Oakland.  The  first  friend,  Ernest  Percy.  A 
last  summer  at  Constantia,  soon  to  be  sold.  A 
first  camping  trip  .  .  and  no  one  out  of  California 
knows  what  that  can  be!  .  .  to  Big  Meadows, 
in  Lassen  County.  In  1905,  when  he  was  thir- 
teen, the  Piedmont  public  school.  .  .  .  One  sees 
the  little  gallant  figure  riding  bareheaded  every 
day  across  the  hills  on  his  horse  "Billy." 

The  father  meanwhile  had  embarked  on  the 
magnificent  undertaking,  the  strain  of  which,  had 
they  but  known,  was  to  be  the  precursor  of  his 
death.  Recognising  the  possibilities  of  the  fertile 
plain  of  the  Sacramento,  a  domain,  mile  for  mile, 
as  large  as  the  whole  of  Ireland,  he  had,  in  a 
few  months,  with  characteristic  vigor  and  far- 
sightedness, conceived  and  launched  that  scheme 
of  traction  now  known  and  operating  as  the 
Northern  Electric  Railway. 

The  winter  of  1 905-1 906  Harry  spent  with 
Mrs.  Butters  in  Santa  Barbara,  where  he  went  to 
school.    They  were  thus  away  during  much  of  this 


Five  \'ear.s  Old 


LIFE  37 

strenuous  period  of  the  father's  career.  The  year 
before  Mr.  Butters  had  won  the  blue  ribbon  at 
Burllngame;  had  now  entered  for  the  Los  Angeles 
Horse  Show;  (Harry  came  naturally  by  his  love 
of  horse  flesh)  .  .  .  and  was  on  his  way  south  to 
join  them. 

But  the  1 8th  of  April  shook  San  Francisco  to 
ruins.  How  many  human  plans  and  doings  were 
swept  into  the  smoke  of  the  Great  Fire ! 

The  boy  had  gone  to  Los  Angeles  with  his 
mother.  .  .  .  He  was  now  fourteen,  and  realis- 
ing, beyond  his  years,  the  clouds  that  rolled  over 
his  domestic  horizon  as  heavily  and  unexpectedly 
as  they  did  over  San  Francisco.  The  elder  But- 
ters had  put  his  heart,  and  most  of  his  resources, 
into  the  Northern  Electric.  Had  the  cataclysm  of 
1906  delayed,  had  his  own  health  stood  the  strain^ 
he  would  have  carried  his  plans  to  a  triumphant 
conclusion. 

But  the  fine  mechanism  of  that  will  had  weak- 
ened .  .  .  and  was  soon  to  snap.  The  boy,  who 
adored  his  father,  watched  him  with  unchildlike 
solicitude.  .  .  .  Despite  another  wonderful  sum- 
mer home,  "Los  Nogales"  of  his  father's  build- 
ing at  Chico;  despite  another  camping  trip  to  Big 
Meadows  with  Ernie  Percy;  despite  the  joy  of  an- 
other journey  to  Europe,  and  the  excitement  of 
entering  a  school  abroad,  the  boy's  consciousness 
seems  to  have  centred  always  on  his  senior.  They 
were  more  than  father  and  son  .  .  .  they  were 
mutually  enraptured  friends. 


38  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A, 

IV 

BEAUMONT 

Harry  entered  Beaumont  College  in  October, 
1906.  He  was  there  only  one  school  year,  but 
that  year  made  the  fervent  little  American  under- 
stand how,  by  blood,  tradition,  ideals,  he  was  Eng- 
lish as  well  as  American.  There  lingers  a  curious 
feeling  In  many  minds  that  one  goes  back,  if  he 
can,  to  his  own  place  to  die.  It  is  as  true  that 
many  a  one  is  drawn  back  to  live  in  the  environ- 
ment of  his  forefathers.  We  Americans,  for  all 
the  ancient  differences  with  England,  are  mainly 
English.  Later,  it  became  Harry's  dearest  dream 
to  bring  about  some  great  union  of  the  English 
speaking  races.  He  was  fond  of  saying,  like  some 
others,  that  had  America  and  England  made  an 
offensive  and  defensive  alliance,  there  never  would 
have  been  this  war. 

At  any  rate,  though  he  chafed  at  first  under  the 
restrictions  and  conventions  of  Beaumont,  he  soon 
adapted  himself  to  the  new  life.  A  photograph 
of  his  class  brings  his  eager  little  Californian  type 
Into  vivid  relief  against  the  thirty  more  serious 
English  faces.  Beaumont  and  Old  Windsor,  the 
composed  valley  of  the  quiet  Thames,  made  a 
larger  and  even  more  contrasting  background  to 
the  alert  enquiring  Westerner.  He  ran  away 
from  school  in  early  days,  made  an  adventurous 
trip  to  London,  and  burst  into  the  City  offices  of 


LIFE  39 

his  father's  firm  .  .  .  but  this  was  promptly  for- 
given as  a  natural  Callfornian  impetuosity. 

Father  Carey,  whom  he  always  spoke  of  as  his 
dear  "Father  Tim,"  wrote  him  not  long  after- 
ward, when  the  boy  had  returned  to  America : 

Beaumont  College, 
Old  Windsor, 
Easter,  1908. 

Dear  Harry, 

I  was  up  to  my  ears  in  work  when  your  letter 
arrived,  and  it  was  with  reluctance  I  postponed 
writing  to  you.  I  saw  holidays  looming  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  I  knew  the  day  would  come  when  I 
could  have  a  leisurely  chat  with  our  "American 
Cousin." 

Many  thanks  for  your  interesting  letter.  I  was 
delighted  to  hear  that  you  are  getting  on  A  i,  and 
so  happy.  Apparently  work  does  not  seem  to 
weigh  too  heavily  on  your  shoulders,  and  if  it 
does,  you  maintain  your  cheerful  spirits  in  spite 
of  it!  Judging  from  your  letter,  I  should  imagine 
rules  and  regulations  at  your  present  school  are 
more  in  accordance  with  your  tastes  than  those 
at  Beaumont. 

Now  that  it  is  all  past  history,  I  wonder  if  I 
can  depict  for  your  amusement  what  a  comical 
card  you  were  when  first  you  came  to  Beaumont? 
Of  course,  I  speak  only  of  Harry  Butters  in  the 
school-room,  although  I  imagine  an  account  of 
Harry  Butters  outside  the  school-room  would  be 
equally  interesting. 

Can  you  imagine  what  it  would  be,  to  break  in  a 


40  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

four-year-old  colt  which  had  never  previously  had 
any  training  or  handling  whatever? 

Have  you  ever  seen  how  a  strong  salmon 
struggles,  when  it  is  landed — to  get  back  to  its 
native  waters? 

Have  you  ever  noticed  the  endeavours  of  a  wild 
bird? — when  it  is  caught  and  put  in  a  cage? 

Now,  whichever  of  these  examples  appeals  to 
you  most,  just  multiply  it  by  five  and  a  half — and 
then  square  it, — and  then  see  if  the  result  is  at 
all  familiar  to  you. 

Speaking  of  your  first  month  in  the  school-room, 
I  might  mention  that  hardly  ever  did  your  varia- 
tions of  posture  and  looks  annoy  me;  on  the  con- 
trary, they  amused  me  immensely,  though  I  may 
have  concealed  the  fact,  and  pretended  otherwise. 

Though  the  poor  Master  might  easily  ask  him- 
self *'what  next?" — when  he  saw  the  American 
Cousin  sitting  with  his  back  to  the  master,  and 
both  feet  placed  carefully  on  the  top  of  the  ink- 
pots of  the  desk  behind. 

In  those  early  days  I  never  dreamt  of  making 
any  personal  remark,  or  giving  any  personal  ad- 
monition— I  thought  it  better  to  watch  and  take 
stock,  and  contented  myself  with  a  general  remark, 
to  the  effect  that  "it  is  a  good  thing  occasionally, 
— say,  once  a  day,  for  a  few  minutes — to  look 
straight  in  front  of  one!" 

After  a  time,  I  found  those  general  remarks  had 
their  effect.  And  what  was  my  joy,  after  a  few 
weeks,  to  find  that  but  one  foot  was  engaged  in 
covering  an  ink-pot?  My  joy  was  somewhat 
diminished,  however,  when  I  noticed  that  one  hand 


LIFE  41 

was  engaged  In  pinching  a  neighbour — probably 

Thomas ,  and  the  other  hand  hard  at  work, 

drawing  a  complimentary  caricature  of  the 
Master !  But  I  must  do  you  justice  and  say, — that 
the  expression  on  the  eyes  and  face  at  that 
moment,  betokened  the  most  intense  attention. 

Many  months  have  passed  since,  and  perhaps 
the  picture  is  rather  exaggerated — but  I'm  sure 
you  won't  mind. 

It  was  most  edifying  to  see  how  you  buckled  to 
the  last  half-year,  and  showed  all  that  the  wild 
H.A.B.  need  be  second  to  none,  if  he 
wished.  .  .  . 

I  hope  you  will  always  be  happy,  and  cheerful 
— may  luck  ever  attend  you  I 

Affectionately  yours, 

Timothy  Carey,  S.  J. 


And  lately  Father  Carey  has  written : 

"Harry  Butters  joined  the  class  in  Figures 
when  he  came  to  Beaumont.  In  classics  he  was, 
perhaps,  a  bit  behind  the  others,  but  In  English 
and  kindred  subjects,  and  in  general  knowledge, 
he  was  far,  far  in  advance  of  them,  while  in  brains 
and  the  power  of  application  and  concentration, 
it  was  not  easy  to  meet  his  equal. 

But  there  was  some  difficulty  in  getting  him  to 
settle  to  work  when  he  arrived.  The  discipline 
of  an  English  school  was  not  a  thing  he  took  to 
easily — for  the  first  week  or  so  Harry  was  like 
a  young  horse  loose  in  a  box. 


42  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

I  remember,  In  the  class-room,  he  was  sitting 
near  a  window  overlooking  the  Community  lawn. 
He  stood  up  to  look  out  of  the  window,  when- 
ever any  one  was  passing  below,  and  he  did  the 
same  when  no  one  was  passing!  He  spoke  aloud, 
whenever  It  took  his  fancy — he  answered  ques- 
tions not  addressed  to  him — and  In  the  same  loud 
voice,  he  applied  to  others,  epithets,  which,  In  his 
view,  their  answers  to  questions  merited. 

But  Harry  was  a  universal  favourite  with  all 
the  boys,  though  he  could  assert  himself  when 
necessary. 

I  remember  such  an  occasion  during  his  first 
week  at  Beaumont,  and  while  being  broken  in. 
The  boy  sitting  behind  Harry  in  class  had  re- 
cently been  nicknamed  'Eliza.'  The  name  was 
not  acceptable  to  him,  and  he  was  anxious  to  get 
rid  of  it  before  It  stuck.  Here  was  his  chance — 
pass  It  on  to  the  wild  new-comer!  (The  attempt 
was  made  in  class,  and  under  pretence  of  helping 
the  Master,  in  his  endeavours  to  reform  Harry). 

The  breach  of  discipline  entailed  was  tolerated 
apparently  on  that  understanding.  For  some 
days  the  lessons  were  enlivened  by  such  expressions 
as — 'Sit  down,  Eliza' — 'Don't  turn  round,  Eliza.' 
— 'Eliza,  you'll  fall  out  of  the  window!' — 'Don't 
make  speeches,  Eliza  !' — 'Shut  up  when  you've  an- 
swered the  question.' 

At  last  Harry's  voice  rang  out — 'My  name  Is 
Harry  Butters — I'm  quite  satisfied  with  It — and 
if  you  persist  In  calling  me  "Eliza"  it  will  only 
be  on  condition  that  you  are  stronger  than  I.' 


LIFE  43 

The  name  *Eliza'  was  never  again  applied  to 
Harry. 

Harry's  power  with  the  pen,  and  facilities  in 
conversation,  were  extraordinary.  Even  as  a  boy 
at  Beaumont,  he  always  'held  the  floor.'  It  was 
a  rare  thing  to  find  him  quiet,  except  when  devour- 
ing a  book — and  even  then  he  often  talked  aloud 
to  himself.  There  was  never  a  pause  for  an  ap- 
propriate word,  and  his  felicity  in  expression  was 
remarkable. 

One  particular  incident  has  impressed  Itself  on 
my  memory. 

It  was  at  Beaumont,  and  the  boys  were  giving 
a  *Concertatie.'  A  'Concertatle'  Is  an  exhibi- 
tion of  class-work,  given  in  the  Community  refec- 
tory, during  dinner.  The  boys  are  arranged  in 
the  middle  of  the  room  and  are  questioned  by 
their  Master  on  one  or  more  subjects  that  have 
been  treated  in  class  during  the  term. 

'Concertaties'  are  not  very  entertaining,  for 
the  Master,  or  class,  or  listeners — and  anything 
which  raises  a  laugh  on  such  occasions  Is  wel- 
come. 

On  the  day  In  question,  the  class  subjects  had 
been  exhausted,  and  there  were  yet  five  or  six 
minutes  to  be  put  in.  The  Master  happily  hit  on 
the  right  man  to  kill  time. 

'Harry  Butters,  will  you  spell  "Kangaroo,"  and 
tell  us  all  you  know  about  the  animal?' 

It  was  quite  a  surprise  question.  Most  British 
boys  at  that  age  would  perhaps  have  spelt  the 
word  with  some  hesitation, — while  a  description 
of  the  animal,  If  any  were  forthcoming,  would 


44  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

have  been  painfully  halting.  I  wish  I  could  re- 
member Harry's  answer — It  was  superb  ! 

He  began  straight  off — spoke  very  fast,  as  was 
his  wont — and  with  never  a  moment's  pause  for  a 
word — In  describing  the  animal,  Its  habits,  or  the 
countries  where  it  abounds. 

The  five  minutes  were  up,  and  still  Harry 
went  on. 

At  last  he  stopped,  to  the  regret  of  all,  who 
greeted  his  answer  with  admiring  laughter. 

Harry  knew  he  had  their  approval,  for  he  be- 
gan again — 'Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  it  has  a 
pouch  in  which  it  carries  its  young — '  etc. 


"Two  things  I  particularly  noticed  In  Harry — 
his  extraordinary  devotion  to  Beaumont,  and  his 
genuine  attachment  to,  and  affection  for,  his 
friends.  I  met  him  on  a  visit  to  the  college  some 
years  ago,  and  he  remarked — 'Wherever  I  have 
been,  old  boy,  you  may  be  sure  people  have  heard 
of  Beaumont,  even  If  they  didn't  know  of  its  ex- 
istence before.  They  know  now  all  about  the 
beeches,  and  the  swimming-tank,  and  the  boating- 
club,  and  the  rest.  It  Is  a  puzzle  even  to  myself, 
how  the  old  place  attracts  me — ' 

He  was  as  true  as  gold  to  his  friends,  and  he 
had  his  own  original  and  natural  ways  of  proving 
it — and  here  he  spoke  by  deeds,  and  didn't  bother 
much  about  words  and  professions  of  friendship. 

The  following  Incident,  among  many,  occurs  to 
me,  and  I  give  it,  as  Illustrating  Harry's  original 
ways  in  other  respects. 


LIFE  45 

He  was  over  in  London  four  years  ago,  and 
called  at  Beaumont,  to  see  some  old  friends.  One 
of  them  was  absent  at  the  time,  and  Harry  was 
informed  he  was  in  Dublin.  Off  he  went  to  Dub- 
lin, to  find  that  the  friend  was  in  the  South  of  Ire- 
land. Harry  finally  turned  up  in  the  South.  He 
had  no  luggage  with  him,  and  as  he  was  to  stay  the 
night,  his  friend  asked  him  if  he  had  left  his  lug- 
gage at  the  station. 

*0h  no,'  came  the  reply,  'I  have  all  my  lug- 
gage with  me !'  and  forthwith  he  produced  a 
comb  and  tooth-brush  from  his  pocket. 

*But  surely,  Harry,  you  don't  always  go  about 
like  that?' 

Tes,  I  frequently  do,  and  I  manage  quite  com- 
fortably. For  instance,  I  bought  a  pair  of  socks 
in  London,  and  they  did  duty,  until  I  got  to  a  shop 
in  your  village  here — where  I  left  them,  and 
bought  a  new  pair!  Yes,  and  the  Beaumont 
Union  dinner  comes  off  in  London  in  a  few  days, 
and  I  want  to  be  at  it,  to  look  up  some  old  friends, 
but  I  haven't  a  dress-suit  with  me  to  appear  in! 
But  you  can  reckon  I'm  going,  and  they'll  make 
allowance  for  a  wandering  Yankee.'  " 


EXETER 

During  the  Christmas  holidays  there  was  a  trip 
to  Italy,  and  the  summer  was  spent  in  Surrey. 


46  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

But  In  September  they  let  him  return  to  Amer- 
ica. He  had  been  promised  a  time  at  Exeter, 
preparatory  to  entering  Harvard.  His  chum 
Ernest  Percy  was  there,  and  Exeter,  by  the  way, 
had  been  the  home  of  many  of  the  Butters 
family. 

The  two  boys  spent  their  Thanksgiving  and 
Christmas  holidays  with  Ernest's  aunt,  Mrs. 
Harmon,  in  Portland,  Maine. 

She  writes  of  this  time : 

"Harry  was  so  bright  and  merry  always — and 
just  the  life  of  our  Thanksgiving-Day  dinner — 
only  his  thoughts  were  with  you  all  too.  At  the 
end  of  the  afternoon  he  said — 'May  I  send  a  tele- 
gram over  the  telephone.  Auntie  Belle?'  I  can 
still  hear  his  ringing  voice  as  he  gave  it — such  a 
hearty  greeting  to  you  all  at  'Alta  Vista' — warm- 
hearted, loving — affectionate  Harry — 

Another  time,  I  sat  by  my  table  sewing  labels 
on  new  stockings,  when  Harry  came  up  to  my 
room,  and  sat  a  few  moments  watching  me.  When 
I  would  finish  a  pair,  he  would  roll  it  so  tightly 
and  compactly  that  I  said,  'Why  Harry  boy, 
where  did  you  ever  learn  to  do  this  so  well?'  'Oh, 
I've  travelled  a  lot  for  a  kid.  Auntie  Belle,  and 
you  see  Tve  learned  how  to  pack!' — Then  he 
stopped  a  moment,  and  a  serious  look  came  into 
his  beautiful  eyes — *Don't  sew  any  more — Jcf: 
talk!' — so  I  dropped  my  work,  and  sitting  there, 
in  the  fading  light  of  afternoon,  Harry  told  me 
of  his  boyhood — of  his  going  to  South  Africa — 


LIFE  47 

and  on  through  some  of  Beaumont  College  life. 
We  talked  of  the  future,  too — and  Harry's  earnest 
tone  impressed  me,  for  even  then,  the  boy-spirit 
of  nobility  of  purpose  was  all  there,  when  he 
said — 'I  must  make  good,  Auntie  Belle — you 
know  /  am  the  only  Butters — and  Papa  and  Uncle 
Charlie  have  been  such  howling  successes!' 

He  touched  on  the  Church  too — and  said  in 
such  a  sweet  way — 'I  don't  think  you  people  who 
are  not  CathoHcs  love  your  Church  as  we  love 
ours.  Ernie  doesn't  care  for  his  as  /  do;  you 
know  /  think  our  Church  helps  a  fellow  to  be 
good!' 

It  was  growing  dark,  and  I  rose  to  turn  on  the 
light,  when  in  a  quick  way,  Harry  put  his  arm 
around  me,  and  kissed  me,  saying — TouVe  been 
mighty  good  to  let  me  talk  to  you,  just  as  I 
wanted  to — I  don't  often  want  to — but  I  did  this 
afternoon,  and  it  has  been  so  nice  and  homey  up 
here !— ' 

Bless  the  boyT 


VI 


THE   father's   death 


Harry  came  west  for  the  summer  of  1908, 
dividing  his  freedom  between  Alta  Vista  and  Etna 
Springs  near  St.  Helena.  His  father  and  he  drove 
through  Lake  County,  that  wild  untouched  region 
around  Clear  Lake.  It  was  their  last  time  to- 
gether.   The  boy  returned  to  Exeter  in  September, 


48  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

on  the  15th.     On  October  26th  the  father  died 
of  pneumonia. 

The  news  fell  with  stunning  suddenness.  The 
boy  was  expecting  a  telegram  in  answer  to  his  re- 
quest for  a  Christmas  holiday  at  home,  and 
opened  the  yellow  paper  casually. 

He  was  sixteen. 

This  was  In  1908,  more  than  two  years  after 
the  Earthquake,  less  than  six  before  the  Great 
War. 


VII 

IN    YOSEMITE 

There  was  a  sorrowful  gathering  that  Christ- 
mas at  Alta  Vista.  For  ten  days  the  whole  family 
were  together  there,  the  tall  frank  boy  as  much 
the  centre  of  the  curiously  assorted  group  as  the 
lovely  child  had  been.  But  for  all  his  youth,  he 
was  a  man  now,  and  for  all  his  sixteen  years,  Tie 
was,  and  was  to  remain,  a  delightful  child. 

In  the  first  days  of  1909,  Harry  took  his  mother 
and  one  sister  to  San  Ysidro,  at  Santa  Barbara. 
Here  he  bought  his  first  car,  called  the  White 
Streak,  appropriately,  for  from  the  first  he  was  a 
reckless  driver.  A  visitor,  Mr.  Murray  Ogilvy, 
afterward  a  friend,  describes  his  original  glimpse 
of  the  handsome  boy  who  dashed  along  the  gleam- 


The  Boy 


.^d 


LIFE  49 

ing  Monteclto  road,  where  Mr.  Ogilvy  was 
strolling;  slowed  down,  and  offered  the  stranger 
a  lift.  This  accepted,  he  said  at  once,  in  charac- 
teristic fashion,  "My  name's  Harry  Butters. 
Shall  I  let  her  go?"  "Letting  her  go"  was  a 
trick  of  Harry's;  but  he  was  a  born  motorist  as 
he  vas  a  born  mechanic,  and  seldom  came  to  grief. 

JAC  this  time  he  had  a  serious  attack  of  pleurisy, 
and  as  soon  as  he  was  convalescent,  they  left  Santa 
Bar  -a  for  Yosemite  Valley,  where  tragedy  was 
again  to  fall  upon  the  boy. 

He  had  gone  over  to  Wawona  alone,  when,  on 
June  17th,  he  was  hastily  recalled  by  the  word  of 
his  mother's  illness.  On  the  20th  she  died,  far 
from  home,  In  the  splendid  silence  of  the  great 
Valley.  They  could  get  nothing — they  were 
literally  in  the  wilderness  .  .  .  but  the  boy  pro- 
cured a  soldier's  coffin  from  the  military  camp 
close  by,  helped  place  his  mother's  body  in  It, 
and  himself  drove  the  army  wagon  on  which  they 
laid  her,  to  El  Portal. 


One  speculates  on  that  long,  wild,  strange 
journey  ...  on  the  courage  and  beauty  of  the 
boy  mounted  on  his  army  wagon,  guiding  the 
horses  that  drew  his  dead  mother  through  the 
majestic  solitude  of  that  silent  country. 


50  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

VIII 

AT  SEVENTEEN 

That  was  the  midsummer  of  1909.  Harry  was 
now  seventeen.  His  father's  will  had  left  him 
heir  to  the  whole  Butters  fortune,  depleted  sadly 
by  the  Northern  Electric.  And  now,  by  his 
mother's,  he  found  he  was  again  sole  legatee. 

There  was  a  dramatic  moment  in  the  big  room 
at  Alta  Vista  when  the  lawyer  finished  reading  the 
will  to  the  assembled  family.  The  boy  had 
listened  with  a  pale  face.  He  had  loved  both 
parents  passionately;  their  affection  for  him  had 
amounted  to  Idolatry;  but  he  stood  up  quietly,  as 
though  his  years  were  47  rather  than  17,  and  an- 
nounced that  he  must  contest  the  will;  that  his 
mother's  estate  must  be  equally  divided  amongst 
her  eight  children;  If  this  could  not  be  done  while 
he  was  a  minor,  he  pledged  himself  to  such  a 
division  when  his  21st  birthday  should  arrive. 
Later,  he  appealed  to  the  Court  to  have  Lucile 
and  David  appointed  his  guardians. 

The  situation  was  amazing.  The  lawyer  for 
the  executors,  Mr.  Clarence  McKInstry,  while  ap- 
plauding the  boy's  sense  of  justice,  was  of  course 
obliged  to  uphold  the  will.  There  was  a  law  suit, 
and  Harry  was  momentarily  embittered  that  any 
obstacle  should  be  put  In  the  way  of  his  making 
what  he  considered  a  rightful  restitution  ...  of 
giving  away,  In  other  words,   a   fortune   clearly 


LIFE  51 

meant  to  be  his  own.  He  wrote  some  two  years 
later  to  Lucile,  when  he  was  at  sea,  and  had  had 
time  to  weigh  the  matter: 

Bark  "Drummuir," 
At  Anchor  off  Port  Elizabeth, 

May  7th,  191 1. 

My  Dearest  Gookie, 

Thank  God,  the  contest  is  over  at  last !  What 
a  joy  it  is  to  know  that  all  the  family  are  (or 
soon  will  be)  comfortably  fixed. 

No,  Gookie,  I  am  not  going  to  write  Mr.  Mc- 
Kinstry — because  I  do  not  consider  a  letter  ade- 
quate to  the  situation.  But  when  I  reach  home 
again,  I  shall  call  upon  him,  and  apologise  for  the 
utterly  uncalled-for  way  in  which  I  misjudged  him. 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  this  a  long  time  ago — be- 
fore we  rounded  the  Horn,  in  fact — and  my  de- 
cision would  have  been  in  no  way  affected,  had  he 
carried  the  case  to  a  higher  court. 

At  least  one  good  thing  has  come  out  of  it  to 
me — I  have  learned  to  keep  my  ugly  mouth  shut! 
Good-bye,  dearest — 

Habs. 


IX 

AROUND  THE   WORLD 

The  time  between  this  and  his  coming  of  age, 
nearly  four  years,  he,  or  fortune  for  him,  crowded 
to  the  brim.     He  entered  a  school  in  Berkeley  to 


52  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

prepare  for  the  University  of  California,  but  in 
the  holidays  following  his  first  year,  when  he  was 
camping  with  his  oldest  half  brother.  Will  Ed- 
wards, and  his  friend  Ernest  Percy,  he  con- 
tracted pneumonia.  This  was  so  serious  that  he 
was  ordered  away  by  his  physician  and  friend, 
Dr.  Fearn,  on  a  long  sea  trip. 

He  shipped  as  purser  on  the  bark  Drummuir, 
with  Captain  Fleming,  who  was  to  become  one  of 
his  dearest  friends.  They  sailed  from  Seattle  in 
December,   19  lO. 


Letter  to  Lucile, 


At  Puget  Sound, 
Bark  "Drummuir," 

Dec.  10,  1910. 


*'Well,  Gookle,  you  see  I  am  all  settled  O.  K., 
for  the  next  year,  and  simply  waiting  now  to  get 
to  sea.  I  am  absolutely  care-free,  with  not  a  re- 
sponsibility In  the  world,  except  to  live  up  to  what 
Is  right,  and  do  all  the  strengthening  physical 
work  I  can — at  least,  six  hours  of  good  hard 
physical  work  a  day — as  much  as  possible  of  It 
aloft,  which  will  give  me  the  balance,  the  poise, 
and  the  confidence,  that  no  other  work  will.  When 
I  get  back,  I  will  certainly  surprise  you — I  say  It 
with  absolute  confidence. 

This  will  be  my  last  letter  to  you,  and  you  will 
have  to  show  to  the  'Bunch'  as  usual. 

And  now,  one  last  sentiment — You  will,  accord- 
ing to  your  letter,   all  be   dining  at  Davy's  on 


LIFE  53 

Christmas  night — very  well — Be  sure  and  have 
the  exact  time  on  the  table,  and  at  eight  o'clock, 
exact  Pacific  thne,  you  can  all  think  of  me  and 
drink  my  health.  At  that  time  I  shall  be  about 
one  hundred  miles  directly  off  San  Francisco — 
nearer  to  you  all  than  I  shall  be  again  for  a  year 
— and  I  shall  be  thinking  of  you  all,  and  will  re- 
turn the  toast.  Our  spirits,  at  least,  will  be  in 
communication  for  a  moment.  Do  this,  as  I  shall 
count  on  it. 

And  now,  Gookie,  good-bye !  As  you  know, 
there  is  no  need  to  tell  you,  how  much  you  are  to 
me — I  love  you  dearly,  and  will  return  to  you  safe, 
and  sound,  and  a  different  boy  from  the  one  that 
left  you. 

God  bless  you,  a  hundred  times — my  only 
Mother  now." 

Habs. 

Harry  kept  a  daily  record  of  the  ten  months 
which  followed,  so  it  is  easy  to  picture  them  ac- 
curately. Would  any  other  boy  of  eighteen,  even 
if  he  had  himself  elected  to  go  into  exile  for  the 
main  part  of  a  year,  have  converted  that  long 
dull  period  of  existence  into  a  well-thought-out 
system  of  education,  physical  and  mental?  Would 
another  boy  have  forced  himself  to  study  naviga- 
tion, drawing  and  Kant's  philosophy,  with  the 
same  enthusiasm  that  took  him  adventurously 
aloft?  (and  reaching  the  top  gallant  yard  some 
100  feet  above  the  deck,  "dizzy  height  and  quiv- 
ering ropes!"  Is  no  joke  the  first  time).  Would 
another  boy  have  reduced  to  an  accurate  science 


54  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

the  washing  of  his  clothes,  the  mastication  of  his 
food  (he  found,  poor  boy,  that  he  was  always 
hungry  till  he  hit  upon  the  stern  resolve  to  chew 
every  mouthful  twice  the  normal  time!),  the  de- 
liberate conquering  of  "weather  depression"  by 
certain  work? 

No  .  .  .  this  surprising  young  creature,  with 
all  his  exuberance,  his  tempestuous  gaiety  and 
gloom,  his  restlessness  and  eagerness  for  change, 
made  himself  a  sound  ambitious  program  to  cover 
every  moment  of  every  day  (reserving  only  Sun- 
day for  idle  time),  and  kept  to  It  like  a  school 
master. 

Making  friends  was  a  more  natural  matter. 
Skipper,  mate,  second  mate,  steward,  cook,  "sails" 
and  carpenter,  deck  boy  and  the  rest  of  the  crew, 
twenty-two  souls  In  all,  .  .  were  obviously  de- 
voted to  the  boy,  heart  and  mind,  from  the  day  of 
his  appearance  on  board. 

Consequently,  there  reigned  harmony.  Now 
and  then  "warm  old  arguments"  as  Harry  writes, 
took  place.  "However,"  continues  this  Infant 
Solomon,  "as  these  arguments  may  lead  In  time  to 
bad  feeling,  I  have  determined  to  practise  self- 
control  ...  a  virtue  I  am  sadly  in  need  of,  and 
In  the  future  to  follow  as  nearly  as  possible  the 
three  rules :  First,  never  argue  with  a  man  who 
knows  less  than  you  do;  inform  him  if  he  wants 
Information,  but  don't  argue  with  him.  Second, 
never  argue  with  a  man  who  knows  more  than  you 


LIFE  55 

do  .  .  .  instead,  learn  from  him.  .  .  .  Third, 
never  argue  with  a  man  who  is  pig-headed  .  .  . 
he  is  not  worth  your  time  and  you  will  only  lose 
your  temper." 

The  good  ship  Driimmiiir  passed  slowly  down 
the  slow  Pacific,  sighting  neither  land  nor  other 
craft  .  .  through  the  Tropics,  .  .  a  week  of  the 
doldrums  .  .  with  the  sunsets  glorious  beyond 
telling,  and  the  sharks  evil  and  making  for  evil. 

She  crossed  the  line  in  mid-January,  and  they 
bore  south  under  varying  winds.  .  .  .  Two  ships 
now  passed  them,  and  later,  25S  and  130W  they 
sighted  Pitcairn  Island.  Then  through  "the  roar- 
ing forties"  and  so  on  to  the  Horn. 


"On  the  morning  of  Feb.  20th,  we  sighted 
Diego  Ramirez,  a  small  island  lying  about  50 
miles  to  the  west  and  south  of  Cape  Horn.  Five 
hours  later  that  group  of  islands  which  form  the 
southernmost  point  of  the  American  continent  was 
in  plain  view  .  .  .  the  jagged  outhne  occupying 
about  a  sixth  of  the  visible  horizon.  The  weather 
was  balmy,  the  wind  light  but  fair,  so  I  sat  up 
on  the  quarterdeck  the  greater  part  of  the  day, 
smoking  and  sketching.  And  indeed,  the  scene 
was  one  I  might  well  take  time  to  admire,  for  in 
all  probability  I  shall  never  see  it  or  its  like  again. 
In  the  foreground  rose  the  grim  peak  of  Horn 
Island,  falling  away  on  the  south  east  in  a  series 
of  beetling  crags  and  buttresses,  to  that  harmless 


S6  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

little  point  of  land,  the  gigantic  bugbear  of  the 
seas,  Cape  Horn!"     Thus  Harry. 

They  rounded  the  "gigantic  bugbear"  easily  and 
so  on  across  the  gray,  disturbed  Atlantic.  But 
favoring  winds  took  them  eastward  at  an  average 
of  150  miles  a  day.  They  were  near  to  sailing,  as 
sailors  believe  a  ship  must  sail,  some  day,  over 
her  own  grave.  .  .  .  One  did  not  think  In  191 1 
that  In  1 9 14  one  German  shell  would  end  the  life 
of  the  Drummuir,  and  In  19 16  another  the  life  of 
this  handsome  boy  she  was  now  carrying. 

On  March  30  they  reached  anchorage  off  Port 
Elizabeth,  on  the  South  African  coast  .  .  .  their 
first  landing  in  104  days.  Then  came  Harry's 
visit  to  Capetown  and  the  scene  of  his  father's 
exploits  .  .  .  (for  Henry  Butters  installed  the 
first  electric  tramways)  ;  trips  along  the  coast, 
where  he  had  driven  so  often  as  a  little  boy  .  .  . 
to  Wynburg  and  to  Muizenburg,  and  to  High 
Constantia,  from  which  the  elder  Butters  had 
taken  the  name  for  his  great  holdings  In  Lassen 
County,  California.  .  .  .  One  can  share  the 
happy  enthusiasm  of  all  this.   .   .   .  He  writes: 

"I  certainly  had  a  royal  old  time  In  Capetown, 
and  if  ever  I  had  my  money's  worth,  I  had  it 
there." 

The  voyage  from  here,  "running  down  the 
Easting"  was  a  stormy  one.     In  early  June  the 


LIFE  57 

Drummuir  was  dismasted  and  lay  wallowing  in  a 
heavy  sea.  A  few  hours  of  blessed  intermission 
In  the  tempest  made  it  possible  to  patch  up  tem- 
porarily. But  with  renewed  violence  in  wind  and 
sea,  the  Skipper  re-assures  himself  "If  we've  got 
to  go,  we've  got  to  go." 

Harry,  scribbling  In  the  pounding  washing 
desolation  adds,  "a  highly  logical  and  philosophi- 
cal conclusion,  but  pretty  cheerless  to  a  man"  (our 
man  was  eighteen,  save  the  mark!)  "who  has 
about  as  much  to  live  for  as  It's  possible  to  have. 
But,  after  all,  I  guess  he's  right.  I  have  been 
mortally  afraid  of  several  things  in  this  world,  but 
there  Is  one  thing  I  have  always  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  would  not  fear  when  the  time  came  for  me 
to  look  it  In  the  face  .  .  .  and  that  Is  Death.  For 
It  is  the  one  Inevitable  thing  In  Life.  Therefore 
I  do  not  fear  It  now  .  .  .  when  it  happens  to  be 
put  up  to  me  a  little  sooner  than  I  expected." 

At  II 130  the  glass  dropped  to  28.90  and  was 
still  falling!  "The  men's  faces  are  white  and 
altogether  we  are  In  a  hell  of  a  fix."  But  a  few 
minutes  later  he  writes:  "If  Barabbas"  (his 
name  for  his  brother-in-law)  "were  here,  he  would 
agree  with  me  that  It  is  no  place  for  a  minister's 
son!" 

But  they  rode  out  tht  gale  .  .  dismasted, 
staggering,  smashed  up  as  they  were,  and  after 
some  strenuous  days  of  clearing  away  wreckage 
and  of  temporary  repairs,  they  managed  to  ap- 
proach Sydney  Harbour.     Here   another  storm 


58  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

nearly  finished  them.  Taken  in  tow  by  the  tug 
Heroine,  in  a  fierce  gale  and  heavy  sea,  the  Driim- 
muir  ran  into  the  smaller  vessel,  and  herself  nearly 
piled  up  on  the  Coogee  Rocks.  The  escape  of 
both  barque  and  tug  seems  a  miracle  .  .  .  and 
reading  the  boy's  breathless  account  of  those 
anxious  hours,  one  sighs  with  relief  at  last  to 
know  the  danger  surmounted. 

When  they  reached  Sydney,  the  Skipper,  who 
had  come  to  love  him  like  a  younger  brother,  was 
bewildered  by  the  boy's  sudden  determination  to 
leave  the  Drummiiir,  He  had  counted  on  Harry's 
company  during  the  long  period  necessary  for  re- 
pairs. The  ten  months  together  had  made  the 
two  warm  friends,  but  even  to  so  near  a  com- 
panion Harry  did  not  explain  that  in  addition  to  a 
natural  impatience  at  the  delay,  a  private  worry 
drew  him  home.  Lucile  had  not  been  well  .  .  . 
had  broken  down  indeed,  after  many  years  in 
playing  comforter  and  guide  to  the  diverse  mem- 
bers of  the  big  family.  Harry,  with  characteristic 
impetuosity,  abandoned  his  happy  Driimmiiir  ex- 
perience without  a  word,  to  rush  across  half  the 
world.  He  caught  the  Aorangi  *  home,  and  burst 
in  upon  a  delighted  family. 

The  ten  months  at  sea  had  established  his 
physical  well  being.  His  vitality  had  now  the 
secure  basis  of  a  strength  proportionate  to  his 
great  frame.    When  he  returned  to  San  Francisco 

*The  Aorangi,   like   the  Drummuir,  nxjas  later  sunk  by  the 
Germans. 


Ox   THE    "DRIMMriR' 


LIFE  59 

in  the  August  of  this  year,   191 1,  he  was  some 
three  months  past  nineteen. 


X 

INTERMEDIATE   YEARS 

There  are  no  letters  to  draw  upon  for  the  years 
between  this  and  his  final  departure  from  Cali- 
fornia in  19 1 5  .  .  .  but  one  catches  glimpses  of 
the  Fortunate  Youth  in  happy  environments  of 
his  own  choosing.  It  was  like  him  to  decide  upon 
six  months  of  farm  work  in  the  valley  of  the  San 
Joaquin,  where  he  toiled  as  a  day  laborer,  partly 
to  confirm  his  physical  improvement,  partly  to 
acquire  practical  knowledge  of  a  rancher's  life,  so 
that  when,  a  year  later,  he  bought  a  hundred  acres 
near  Ripon,  close  to  the  scene  of  his  hard  work, 
he  was  ready  to  take  charge  of  his  farm. 

It  was  like  him  and  his  good  luck  too,  that  he; 
should  find  himself  by  chance  one  day  on  Mt. 
Tamalpais,  months  after  he  had  left  the  Antip- 
odes, and  should  be  watching  the  western  horizon 
at  the  moment  when  the  well-known  sea-worn 
bark  Drinnmuir  stole  in  at  the  Golden  Gate. 

The  Skipper's  account  of  the  boy's  dash  down 
the  mountain,  across  the  Bay,  and  out  alongside 
the  Drummuir,  is  epic. 


6o  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

What  Harry  loved — friend,  home,  horse.  Idea, 
tradition — was  always  the  object  of  a  tempestuous 
affection  .  .  .  and  such  surely  the  little  god  of 
adventure  befriends. 

Before  buying  his  San  Joaquin  ranch,  which,  in 
keeping  with  this  sense  of  loyalty,  he  named  in 
honor  of  that  martyr  saint  who  was  the  patron 
of  Beaumont  College,  Rancho  San  Stanislaus  .  .  . 
he  made  a  flying  trip  to  Europe  to  see  his  old 
school,  and  various  friends  in  London  and  Paris, 
returning  by  the  Panama  Canal. 

Then  he  elected  to  spend  the  good  part  of  a 
hard  working  year  in  the  auditing  department  of 
the  Standard  Oil  Offices  in  San  Francisco,  surely 
a  strangely  prosaic  setting  for  this  figure  out  of  ro- 
mance. But  it  was  a  success  like  everything  the 
boy  touched.  A*  corporation  is  not  expected  to 
remember  the  Individual,  but  four  years  after  this, 
the  President  of  the  Standard  Oil  Company  wrote 
to  Lucile: 

Standard  Oil  Company, 
San  Francisco,  May  31,  1917. 

My  Dear  Mrs.  Bray: 

Answering  your  question  as  to  Harry  Butters' 
record  while  he  was  with  this  Company,  I  thought 
it  best  to  get  a  report  from  the  Auditor,  not  stat- 
ing to  him  for  what  purpose  I  wished  it.  The 
following  is  what  he  says : — 

"Our  record  on  Henry  A.  Butters  can  best  be 
given  In  the  simple  statement  of  what  he  was,  and 


LIFE  6 1 

what  he  did,  during  his  short  term  of  employment 
with  the  Company. 

Entering  the  office  in  September,  19 12,  his 
service,  in  accuracy,  quickness,  and  devotion  to 
duty,  was  of  the  highest  quahty,  and  in  competi- 
tion with  dozens  of  clerks — his  predecessors  and 
contemporaries — he  attained  the  best  record 
which  had  ever  been  reached. 

In  April,  19 13,  he  became  of  age  and  left  the 
service  of  the  Company  in  order  to  assume  the 
management  of  his  property. 

During  his  short  time  with  us  he  made  many 
friends,  and  it  was  with  deep  regret  we  let  him 
go.  Although  much  occupied  v/ith  his  new  re  = 
sponsibilities,  he  did  not  forget  his  fellow  clerks, 
but  once  in  a  v/hile  called  in  for  a  friendly  chat, 
and  on  several  occasions  his  kind  remembrance 
was  expressed  in  the  more  tangible  form  of  large 
boxes  of  much-appreciated  bonbons. 

His  last  visit  was  on  the  day  before  leaving  for 
England  to  enroll  in  the  cause  of  the  Allies." 
Yours  very  truly, 

W.  T.  Rhein. 


There  is  something  curiously  mature  in  this 
young  vital  creature  who  so  deliberately  elected 
always  the  sane  course  for  his  own  development. 
The  wisest  guardian  could  not  have  chosen  more 
intelligently.  Yet  here  was  a  boy  with  practically 
unlimited  means,  practically  uncontrolled,  seeing 
life,  and  his  duties  to  his  fellows  and  himself,  as 


62  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

conscientiously  as  a  middle-aged  philosopher,  and 
with  the  chivalrous  kindness  of  a  Sir  Galahad. 


XI 

THE  FORTUNATE  YOUTH 

To  be  young,  handsome,  rich  .  .  .  above  all, 
to  be  adored;  to  have  inherited  a  well  known 
name;  to  come  of  that  clean  English  stock,  which, 
dashed  with  Irish,  we  now  recognise  to  make  for 
the  best  American;  to  have  a  capacity  for  enthu- 
siasm, idealism,  and  what  some  one  has  called  the 
genius  for  friendship;  to  expand,  physically  and 
emotionally,  in  the  generous  Californlan  environ- 
ment; here,  surely,  was  the  Fortunate  Youth. 

And  when  one  sets  his  presentment  In  the  series 
of  vivid  pictures  which  move  across  the  ample 
stage,  glow,  and  disappear  .  .  .  pictures  of  hot 
days  on  his  Rancho  San  Stanislaus,  the  friends, 
Tom  Evans  and  Ernie  Percy,  with  him;  of  long 
journeys  In  the  new  car  Jolly  Boat  from  Ripon  In 
the  baking  San  Joaquin  valley  to  the  cool  green  of 
Piedmont,  where  Luclle's  house  was  home;  of 
Mare  Island  and  St.  Helena,  In  each  of  which 
places  was  the  household  of  another  sister;  of  his 
clubs,  the  Family  and  the  Olympic,  both  typical 
San  Francisco  centres  of  the  joy  of  life  and  youth 
^(youth   of    all   ages,    one   must   add!) — of   the 


LIFE  63 

Hawaiian  Islands,  whence  he  returned  blissfully  on 
the  S.S.  Manchuria  with  the  dear  "Skipper,"  Cap- 
tain Fleming,  now  her  first  officer;  of  Lake  Tahoe, 
whither  he  motored  Father  Lacombe  over  the 
high  Sierras;  of  the  "Igloo,"  the  little  bachelor 
house  he  built  himself  on  a  corner  of  his  Pied- 
mont property,  a  tall  hedge  separating  it  from 
the  big  yellow  Alta  Vista;  •of  San  Mateo  polo 
grounds,  where  he  played  a  dashing  game;  of  the 
walk,  every  Christmas  Eve,  under  the  California 
stars,  to  midnight  mass  .  .  .  when  one  rebuilds 
these  settings,  and  the  gay  young  masterful  crea- 
ture strides  through  them  ...  it  is  tempting  to 
epitomize  all  this  Golden  West  in  the  one  radiant 
personality. 


XII 

BOLINAS 

On  the  edge  of  the  State,  a  third  of  the  distance 
from  the  top  of  that  seldom  dented  coast  line 
which  starts  at  Oregon  and  ends  at  Mexico,  a 
tiny  bay  withdraws  itself  from  the  calm  roll  of 
the  Pacific.  A  tiny  village  looks  west  to  the  un- 
broken sea  horizon,  toward  China,  and  east  to- 
ward unseen  Tamalpais,  extreme  sentinel  of 
these  United  States. 

To  Bolinas,  and  Bolinas  Bay,  it  is  some  three 
hours   from  San  Francisco,  by  the  motor  stage 


64  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

which  climbs  the  Marin  hills,  or  by  the  motor 
boat  which  leaves  the  metropolis  through  the 
Golden  Gate.  Here  Davy,  guardian  and  half 
brother,  had  a  summer  cottage,  and  here  Harry 
chose  to  spend  his  twenty-first  birthday. 

He  called  It  the  happiest  day  of  his  life. 

It  was  characteristic  of  him  to  find  this  happi- 
ness in  the  affection  of  his  family;  the  devotion 
of  his  friends;  In  the  completion  of  a  definite  pro- 
bation; (more  than  ever  was  he  the  young 
knight  who  had  watched  through  the  hours  of 
darkness  beside  his  armor)  ;  In  the  consciousness 
that  he  could  now,  as  a  man,  confirm  the  inten- 
tions of  a  tenderly  quixotic  youth,  and  bring  ma- 
terial as  well  as  mental  ease  to  such  members  of 
his  family  as  needed  it;  In  the  sense  that  the  over- 
whelming griefs  of  an  earlier  period  were  behind 
him. 

It  was  also  part  of  his  seriousness  that  the 
softer  attractions  played  no  role  for  him.  He  had 
never  been  "in  love."  He  was  too  busy,  too  ab- 
sorbed, too  happy.  There  was  Indeed  one  lovely 
vision  to  which  his  sense  of  beauty  and  fitness 
turned,  rather  than  his  heart.  (One  wonders  how 
many  feminine  young  hearts  turned  to  him?)  But 
later,  not  many  weeks  before  his  death,  he  could 
say,  with  his  great  laugh,  that,  honestly,  he  had 
never  known  the  sensation;  regretting  It  a  little, 
perhaps,  as  the  one  drop  till  then  missing  from 
his  deep  draught  of  life. 


LIFE  6s 

XIII 

THE  TWENTY-FIRST  BIRTHDAY 

Harry  came  of  age  on  the  28th  of  April,  19 13. 
Four  years  later  some  of  us  made  the  journey 
to  Bolinas  to  spend  the  anniversary  there. 

It  was  easy  to  reshape  the  great  day  in  those 
unchanged  surroundings.  There  is  still  something 
resistant,  unhumanized,  if  one  may  call  it  that,  in 
the  Californian  landscape,  even  where  men  have 
made  roads  and  walk  about  on  them,  built  houses 
and  live  in  them.  Human  occupation  is  too  re- 
cent, the  country  too  big  and  primitive.  Pretty 
or  sweet  "bits"  in  the  water-colorist's  sense,  do 
not  exist.  Men  and  women  do  not  belong  here, 
for  all  the  gorgeous  hospitality  they  are  offered. 

So  Harry's  birthday  guests,  fifteen  in  all,  whom 
he  brought  by  motor  car  over  the  Sausalito  road, 
or  round  by  more  distant  Tocaloma  and  Olema, 
must  have  seemed  flutteringly  over-civilized  for 
Bolinas.  Even  the  stodgy  little  motor  boat,  the 
Owl,  which  carried  the  wine  and  Harry's  own 
glass  and  silver  in  the  care  of  the  two  friends, 
Tom  Evans  and  Ernie  Percy;  chugging  a  careful 
way  through  the  Golden  Gate,  over  the  bar,  up 
that  coast  (where  nearly  300  years  before  Sir 
Francis  Drake  had  missed  the  Bay  of  San  Fran- 
cisco in  the  fog)  and  by  the  narrow  channel  into 
Bolinas  Lagoon  .  .  .  even  the  Owl  must  have 
seemed  foreign,  out  of  the  picture. 


66  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

But  Harry  himself,  one  likes  to  believe,  fitted 
In.  The  adventuring  type,  cowboy  or  buccaneer, 
must  ever  disturb  the  least  In  this  western  setting. 
Harry's  big  noisy  handsome  personality,  every- 
where at  once,  laughing,  directing,  joyously  con- 
triving everybody's  comfort,  must  have  fallen 
naturally  Into  the  Callfornian  frame. 

The  gay  assemblage  remained  three  days,  and 
spent  the  time  In  walks,  drives,  and  sea-bathing. 
The  day  itself  touched  high  water  mark  In  the 
birthday  dinner  at  the  little  country  hotel,  Po- 
matto's.  The  rude  dining  room  was  literally  em- 
bowered in  roses,  the  decorations  were  Harry's 
old  school  colors.  Pomatto  gave  them  a  royal 
meal.  At  the  end  a  great  cake  was  brought  in, 
with  twenty-one  candles  burning  around  It,  and,  a 
surprise  for  Harry,  the  Beaumont  arms  and 
*'Aeterna  non  Caduca"  cunningly  elaborated  upon 
It. 

There  were  gifts  from  that  young  prince  the 
host;  and  speeches  In  his  honor  that  drew  his 
tears.  Looking  down  the  long  table  at  the  be- 
loved faces,  realising  the  heritage,  material  and 
spiritual,  that  he  had  come  into,  counting  on  a 
limitless  future  of  happiness  and  work,  he  might 
indeed  mark  this  day  with  a  white  stone. 

The  last  toast  drunk,  (Harry's  own  to  his 
guardians,  Lucile  and  Davy)  the  beautiful  glasses, 
at  his  word,  went  crashing  to  the  floor.  And  aft- 
erward, as  they  all  sat  In  the  firellt  room  adjoin- 
ing, ready  to  separate,  the  boy  suddenly  crossed 


LIFE  67 

to  LucUe,  and  kneeling  simply,  like  a  child,  asked 
her  blessing.  .  .  . 

"The  happiest  day  of  his  life." 

xiv: 

WAR 

If  the  years  had  been  full  before  his  coming  of 
age,  they  were  full  to  over-running  after.  The 
bulk  of  his  time  the  boy  spent  on  his  ranch  in 
the  San  Joaquin,  where  his  great  friend  Tom 
Evans,  formerly  a  business  associate  of  his 
father's  and  always  a  family  intimate,  was  gen- 
erally with  him.  The  salient  points  between 
April  19 13,  and  August  19 14,  have  been  touched 
upon;  the  Honolulu  trip;  polo  at  San  Mateo  (an 
accident  there,  a  broken  arm)  ;  the  twenty-second 
birthday  with  Lucile,  motoring  to  the  Santa  Cruz 
Mountains  in  the  Jolly  Boat;  and  the  Tahoe  holi- 
day, where  he  was  arrested  on  a  warrant  of 
Stewart  Edward  White,  the  writer,  for  speeding. 

He  stood  trial  for  this  in  Placerville,  and  was 
fined  seventy-five  dollars.  Mr.  Stewart  Edward 
White  wrote  later,  to  Harry's  sister: 

Dear  Mrs.  Bray: 

I  am  very  glad  you  felt  like  writing,  for  it 
gives  me  the  chance  to  assure  you  that  the  *'score 


68  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

was  square"  from  the  moment  when,  In  court,  I 
had  for  the  first  time  a  chance  to  study  your 
brother  at  close  range.  .  .  .  Previous  to  this  we 
all  thought  we  had  to  do  with  a  too  common  type 
— the  arrogant  buy-it-at-any-price  youth.  But  In 
court  we  quite  reversed  our  notion.  .  .  .  He 
seemed  to  us  then  as  a  boy  of  sensitive  nature, 
romantic  Ideals,  an  almost  quixotic  sense  of  that 
vague  something  called  noblesse  oblige,  and  also, 
at  the  same  time,  a  little  unaware  of  his  fellow 
human  beings,  and  hovering  between  a  spoiled* 
life  and  one  of  more  than  ordinary  signliicance. 
Strangely  enough,  our  conclusion  was  unanimous 
...  we  liked  him,  we  feared  for  him,  we  hoped 
for  him.  ...  If  this  seems  unwarranted  im- 
pertinence, please  remember  that  It  is  real  Inter- 
est. I  saw,  some  time  since,  that  he  had  enlisted. 
He  has  the  stuff  in  him,  more  than  most. 

Will  you  permit  me  to  thank  you  again  for  writ- 
ing as  you  did,  for  In  that  impulse  I  recognise  the 
same  spirit  I  admired  In  your  brother. 
Most  sincerely, 
Stewart  Edward  White. 

All  this,  which  would  at  any  other  time  have 
furnished  endless  banter  in  the  lively  family  circle, 
was  submerged  in  the  sudden  tide  of  war.  Harry 
went  to  Placerville  on  August  25th,  but  three 
weeks  before,  on  August  4th,  England  had  entered 
the  lists.  To  the  old  Beaumont  boy,  England's 
cause  was  the  cause.  Where  most  Americans  felt 
passionately  for  France,  nursing,  perhaps  uncon- 


Campixg  Out  at  Tahoe 


LIFE  69 

sciously,  the  old  soreness  against  England,  Harry 
realised  in  a  flash  the  astounding  English  altruism. 

America  may  have  had  some  grievances;  Ire- 
land may  have  had  many;  but  England,  this  time 
unhesitatingly,  splendidly,  played  the  game. 
Every  drop  of  Harry's  blood,  American,  EngHsh, 
French,  Irish,  ran  like  mad. 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  do,  to  fight  for 
England. 


XV 

DEPARTURE 

Needless  to  say,  there  was  opposition  to  his 
plans.  The  war  was  not  our  war.  To  most  Cali- 
fornians,  it  might  have  been  waging  on  the  planet 
Mars.  The  President  enjoined  neutrality  upon 
us,  even  in  thought.  The  Germans  amongst  us, 
far  from  being  potential  enemies,  were  some  of 
our  nearest  and  best.  And  we  had  our  own  prob- 
lems. Why  concern  ourselves  with  those  of 
Europe? 

But  Harry  saw  his  way  clearly.  The  Rancho 
San  Stanislaus  was  put  in  shape  to  leave.  Other 
business  was  closed  as  peremptorily.  There  was 
a  last  walk  with  Lucile  and  Tom  Evans  to  mid- 
night mass  on  Christmas  Eve.    A  last  New  Year's 


70  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

celebration  at  St.  Helena,  with  his  sister.  Marguer- 
ite. A  last  week  at  Mare  Island  with  the  Kar- 
manys  .  .  .  (and  Luclle  always).  Three  or  four 
days  in  Piedmont,  at  the  Igloo,  where  he  looked 
across  at  Alta  Vista,  wondering,  perhaps,  what 
that  other  Henry  Butters,  his  father,  would  have 
said;  certain  that  he  would  have  done  the  same. 

On  February  4th,  19 15,  he  started  east.  Davy, 
with  the  "Skipper,"  and  Ernest  Percy,  left  him 
at  the  Sixteenth  Street  Station  in  Oakland.  He 
stood  on  the  rear  platform  as  the  heavy  Overland 
Limited  drew  away,  his  vivid  face  above  the  little 
crowd  of  passengers,  flashing  goodbye. 

He  was  leaving  his  own  ...  his  friends,  his 
family,  his  life;  leaving  his  California,  for  a 
country  6000  miles  away,  and  not  his  own. 

*^Ubique  quo  Fas  et  Gloria  Ducunt.'* 

Motto  of  the  Royal  Field  Artillery, 


XVI 

ENGLAND 

One  Saturday  afternoon  in  March,  191 5,  the 
telephone  rang  at  Number  7  Lansdowne  Road,  in 
Holland  Park,  London.  A  cheery  American 
voice  announced  that  it  was  Harry  Butters  of 
Piedmont,  with  letters  from  friends  there.  Might 
he  present  them  at  once? 


LIFE  71 

Bad  luck!  a  weary  hostess  was  engaged.  Could 
he  come  next  day?  No,  he  must  cross  to  Paris 
that  same  night. 

A  sigh.  A  hasty  readjustment.  Was  there  any 
woman  in  London  those  strenuous  days  who  was 
not  worked  to  the  last  ounce  of  time  and  energy? 
But  this  was  a  soldier  .  .  .  and  soldiers  came 
first.  And  this  was  a  boy  from  home  .  .  .  un- 
known, to  be  sure,  but  Californian.  So  the  Cali- 
f ornian  hostess : 

''Of  course.    Come  out  at  once." 

And  in  half  an  hour  the  boy  reached  Number  7. 

He  had  time  only  for  tea  and  some  brief  talk 
.  .  .  such  a  big  figure  over  the  low  tea  table! 
Such  a  sparkling  young  personality  in  the  long 
iire-lit  room! 

Had  he  friends  on  that  side?  "Yes,  but  far 
away  in  Wales  and  Gloucestershire." 

When  was  he  to  return?    "Next  Tuesday." 

Where  would  he  be  in  London?  "Oh,  in  some 
hotel." 

Would  he  like  to  come  to  Number  7?  (After 
all,  Number  7  was  a  bit  of  California,  and  as  such 
his  to  command.) 

"Do  you  mean  it?     I  certainly  should!" 


72  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

And  so,  casually  and  by  the  merest  accident, 
Harry  was  made  one  of  us. 

Another  boy,  long  before,  had  named  the 
hostess  Stepmother,  Harry  adopted  this  title  at 
once.  The  children  became  his  "step-sister  and 
step-brother"  from  that  moment.  We  knew  curi- 
ously little  of  him  or  his  circumstances.  It  was 
enough  that  he  was  Californian,  that  he  had  come 
to  offer  himself  to  England.  There  was  brief 
chance  to  talk  of  anything  but  the  present,  and 
indeed,  early  19 15  was  an  anxious  time,  and 
nothing  counted  but  essentials. 

The  hostess,  finding  violets,  as  lovely  as  Pied- 
mont ones,  every  day  on  her  desk,  asked  finally, 
what  he  planned  to  live  on? 

"On  my  pay,  when  I  get  it." 

Must  he  work  when  he  went  home  after  the 
war? 

"Yes  indeed,  hard!" 

Very  well,  then,  no  more  violets.  And  (firmly) 
shoes  were  to  be  resoled,  not  given  away.  Those 
very  ones  (just  tied  up  for  the  Belgians),  were 
to  be  taken  round  the  corner  for  repairs. 

"Oh,  I  say,  I  don't  like  resoled  shoes !  And  the 
violets  are  only  to  remind  you  of  home!" 

But  in  another  moment,  with  a  dazzling  smile, 


LIFE  73 

*'RIght  O,  Stepmother!  Whatever  you  say, 
goes!" 

We  did  not  know  then  how  tremendously  his 
home,  and  the  home  ties,  counted  for  Harry.  His 
friends,  the  Evanses,  had  made  him  delight- 
fully welcome  in  Stow-on-the-Wold,  and  now 
Number  7  was  to  be  his  London  haven.  It  was  not 
long  before  his  hostess  could  write  to  San  Fran- 
cisco : 

''Last  week  was  made  lively  by  the  enthusiastic 
presence  of  Harry  Butters,  of  whom  we  have  all 
grown  so  fond.  He  has  become  as  much  one  of 
the  family  as  people  we  have  known  and  loved  a 
dozen  years.  And  in  a  curious  way,  he  makes 
one  conscious  that,  after  all,  the  underlying  sense 
of  nationality  is  a  very  real  bond.  .  .  . 

You  know  how  many  English  men  and  boys  I 
know,  and  love — and  comes  along  this  epitome  of 
gaiety — tenderness — enthusiasm — astonishing  ca- 
pability— and  charm  of  unreserve  and  chivalry — 
and  you  are  surprised  to  see  how  you  respond,  and 
how  pleased  and  flattered  you  are  to  be  an  Ameri- 
can! 

We  gave  the  boy  a  good  time — dinner  at  the 
Dickenses',  a  musical  party  at  Mrs.  Balfour's,  a 
call  on  the  Garvins;  I  sent  him  there  by  himself, 
and  the  Great  Man  gave  him  an  hour  alone — 
and  was  fascinating,  as  only  Garvin  can  be. 

'The  nicest  leave  yet,'  he  wrote,  when  he  got 
back  to  camp." 


74  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

XVII 

OFF  TO  THE  FRONT 

That  long  summer  of  19 15  saw  our  Calif ornian 
one  of  the  million  khaki-clad  figures  amongst  us, 
whom  we  were  so  soon  to  find  an  old  story,  but 
ever  with  that  touch  of  mystery  which  goes  with 
death. 

Some  one,  was  it  Prosper  Merimee?  wrote  long 
ago,  "Ah,  les  pauvres  morts!"  But  we,  looking 
on  at  the  young  creatures  drilling,  marching,  end- 
lessly coming  and  going  through  the  London 
streets,  thought  "Ah,  les  pauvres  vivants!"  We 
did  not  say  It  .  .  .  but  when  they  passed,  we 
could  not  meet  one  another's  eyes. 

Harry  threw  himself  Into  the  new  work  with 
all  the  old  zest.  He  got  his  commission  In  March, 
spent  the  following  months  training  at  Shoreham, 
Salisbury  Plain,  and  Farnham,  and  on  the  last 
day  of  August  went  triumphantly  to  France. 

It  was  not  possible  to  associate  disaster  with  that 
vision  of  conquering  youth  .  .  .  and  we  saw  him 
go  with  fairly  easy  hearts. 


PART  III 

LETTERS 
AND  COMMENT 


LEAVING   HOME 

To  Liicile, 

Overland  Limited, 
February  4th,   1915. 
6  p.  M. 

Dearest  Gookie  : 

I  knew  I  would  have  a  bad  time  leaving  Davy 
at  1 6th  Street,  and  I  did.  I  knew  his  eyes  were 
watering  all  the  way  down  and  when  I  said  "Good- 
bye" and  pulled  out,  I  went  to  my  section  in  tears 
and  sobbed  a  long  time.  It  was  only  because  he 
fears  for  me,  and  I  can't  fill  him  with  my  magnifi- 
cent confidence,  and  my  conscience  hurts  when  I 
think  of  him — like  the  very  devil,  always. 

You,  my  dearest  of  all  dear  hearts,  I  feel  far 
nearer  to  at  this  minute  than  I  have  for  a  long 
time.  I  know  how  well,  sorrowing  though  you 
may  be  for  my  six  feet  of  material  self,  you  feel 
the  same. 

I  might  have  known  you  would  fill  my  already 
sufl5ciently  full  pockets  with  more  money — al- 
though it  didn't  even  actually  occur  to  me.  I  won- 
der how  much  of  all  I  have,  you  have  really  "put 
up."  •  I  won't  worry  over  the  proportion  though. 
I  shall  like  always  to  think  that  on  this  trip  Davy 
took  everything  off  my  hands  at  home,  and  that 
you  sent  me  away  of  your  own  dear  will. 

77 


78  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

Father  George's  book  Is  the  greatest  Inspira- 
tion In  the  world.  Tell  him  so.  I  haven't  time 
to  write  him  now,  but  he  understands. 

Bon  soir,  dearest.  In  life  and  death  we  are 
together  always.  You  are  my  constant  Inspiration 
and  source  of  wonder.  I  will  say  the  prayers  you 
asked  me  to — a  "Hall  Mary"  and  the  ''Veni 
Creator"  every  night  until  I  return. 

Habs. 


To  Lucile. 


On  Board  R.  M.  S.  "Adriatic," 
17  Feb.,  1915. 


Dearest  Gookie  : 

Your  wire  was  the  first  thing  I  read  aboard — 
your  dear  long  letter  was  finished  after  Davy's, 
and  I  thought  would  be  my  "dernier  mot,"  when 
I  was  surprised  at  luncheon  by  your  radio,  which 
was  the  last  word  from  home  In  American  waters. 
I  will  show  each  to  you  again  some  day. 

I  too  am  glad  that  I  finally  did  come  on  alone, 
although  I  am  awfully  fond  of  the  old  skipper 
and  wanted  him  to  come.  If  he  stays  on  sailing 
out  of  San  Francisco,  you  must  have  him  over 
once  in  a  while  to  cheer  him  up. 

"Fortitude"  was  perfectly  fine.  I  saved  It  to 
read  aboard,  and  have  devoted  the  whole  voyage 
to  It.  I  do  Indeed  see  myself  In  Peter  Westcott's 
strife,  and  I  too  strive  to  "ride  the  Lion" — al- 
though the  day  must  be  far  distant  when  I  shall  at- 
tain to  the  mastery.    But  I  do  hope  and  pray  that 


LETTERS  AND  COMMENT         79 

I  shall  either  attain  to  it,  or  finish  myself  in  the 
fight — that  I  may  never  slip  into  any  easy  peace- 
ful submission. 

Concerning  the  "traveller  who  would  journey 
to  the  House  of  Courage,"  I  rather  think  that  I 
set  out  on  the  journey  into  ''the  Land  of  Having 
all  Things"  never  having  lived  in  that  of  ''Lack- 
ing all  Things."  If  that  is  so,  all  might  still  be 
right,  and  I  have  hopes  that  I  have  now  passed 
through  that  land  and  am  about  to  cross  the  bor- 
der into  the  next  country  "of  Having  Lost  All 
Those  Things  Which  I  Have  Had"  where  "the 
Traveller's  Fortitude  is  most  severely  tried."  I 
suppose  I  will  know  very  shortly  now  whether  I 
really  am  this  far  along  and  if  so,  I  hope  to  prove 
myself  the  very  finest  little  single-handed  Loser 
in  the  whole  war  zone. 


Father  Harvey's  message  was  certainly  a 
bracer  to  me.  Please  give  him  my  very  kindest 
regards  and  sincere  thanks  for  his  remembrance 
in  his  daily  Mass. 

Salute  "Joe"  (the  Chinese  cook)  for  me  and 
tell  Gus  (Lucile's  husband)  that  his  farewell  wire, 
besides  showing  the  only  flicker  of  humor  I  had 
over  the  wires  (not  that  the  other  things  weren't 
far  more  precious)  contained  the  most  strictly-to- 
the-point  word  of  advice  that  I  have  yet  received. 
It  was  "Shoot  Straight,"  and  that,  after  all,  is  the 
sum  and  total  of  all  advice  in  life.  Fail  or  suc- 
ceed. Shoot  crooked  or  shoot  straight.  /  am  go- 
ing  to  shoot  straight! 


8o  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

Au  revoir,  dearest — I  am  well  under  way — on 
the  quest  from  which  I  shall  bring  you  both  far 
more  than  ever  before. 

Most  affectionately, 

Habs. 


II 

GETTING  A   COMMISSION 

To  David  and  Lucile, 

The  Rectory, 
Stow-on-the-Wold, 
Glos. 
6  March,  1915. 

Dearest  Dave  and  Gookie: 

Let  me  first  say,  in  order  to  set  your  minds  at 
rest,  that  after  sounding  out  every  possibility  and 
looking  over  all  the  ground  from  Beaumont  to 
Paris,  I  have  sent  in  my  application  to  the 
War  Office  for  a  commission  In  the  British  Army 
for  Active  Service  during  the  war,  and  that  I 
have  every  hope  that  I  shall  be  accepted  and  com- 
missioned as  a  2nd  Lieutenant,  within  the  next  cou- 
ple of  weeks. 

Having  settled  your  suspense,  I  can  now  go  on 
to  tell  you  the  various  steps  which  led  up  to  this 
decision,  but  before  I  close  this  paragraph  I  want 
to  explain  that  the  reason  why  I  have  not  written 
oftener  since  my  arrival  Is  that  I  wanted  to  cover 
all  the  ground  and  be  able  to  tell  you  definitely 
just  what  job  I  was  going  after  and  what  were  the 
chances  of  my  getting  it,  before  I  sent  this 
first  long  letter.  From  now  on  I  will  send  lines 
to  each  of  you  a  couple  of  times  a  week,  and  if 

81 


82  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

you  are  troubled  by  any  suspense  as  to  their  ar- 
rival, you  had  better  watch  the  arrival  of  mail- 
boats  at  New  York. 

As  a  last  word,  before  I  begin  the  account  of 
my  activities  since  landing,  let  me  say  that  I  only 
returned  to  Stow  yesterday,  when  I  received  all 
your  letters — three  from  Gookie  and  one  from 
Davy  and  read  them,  with  you  can  imagine  what 
delight.  To  know  that  Alta  Vista  is  rented  and 
more  or  less  off  your  hands  is  a  very  great  relief, 
but  to  hear  how  the  Rancho  is  coming  on  is  of 
even  more  interest,  and  I  shall  observe  its  de- 
velopment from  Davy's  letters  with  as  great  an 
interest  as  the  progress  of  our  own  armies  towards 
the  River  Rhine. 

I  arrived  in  London  late  on  the  evening  of  the 
1 8th  of  February  and  went  straight  to  the  Metro- 
pole  Hotel  for  dinner.  There  I  found  awaiting 
me  a  wire  of  welcome  from  Tom,  bidding  me  come 
to  Stow  the  next  day. 

At  one-forty  in  the  afternoon,  I  left  for  Stow- 
on-the-Wold,  where  Tom  and  Jack  (the  Rev. 
John  Evans)  met  me  and  proceeded  to  make  me 
most  welcome.  Jack  is  quite  fatherly,  very  much 
interested,  and  Mrs.  Evans  shows  a  decided  in- 
clination to  take  me  under  her  wing.  As  for  the 
daughter,  Alice,  she  is  all  right. 

We  spent  four  delightful  days  at  Stow  before 
I  decided  that  I  must  be  about  my  business,  then 
Tommy  left  for  Fishguard  and  I  for  Beaumont. 

I  arrived  at  Beaumont  at  four  in  the  afternoon 
and  sent  my  card  up  to  Father  Carey  (my  old 
master)    and  Captain  Father  Mayo    (command- 


LETTERS  AND  COMMENT         83 

Ing  the  Officers'  Training  Corps).  They  both 
rushed  down,  delighted  to  see  me — particularly 
my  dear  friend  Father  Carey — and  took  me  in  to 
tea.  ''Now,"  says  I,  "here  I  am — Came  seven 
thousand  miles  of  my  own  accord,  and  It's  up  to 
you  to  find  some  way  to  get  me  the  rest  of  the 
way  to  the  Front." 

Well,  Father  Mayo  and  the  Rector  got  their 
heads  together,  and  decided  that  the  best  thing  to 
do  was  to  send  me  to  Major  Fuller,  of  the  War 
Office,  an  old  Beaumont  boy  whom  they  knew,  so 
the  Rector  gave  me  a  letter  to  him,  and  after  a 
day  with  Father  Carey,  I  went  on  to  London. 

That  afternoon  I  determined  to  devote  to  find- 
ing out  all  about  the  Belgian  Relief  Commission, 
so  knowing  that  Mr.  Hoover  would  be  a  fright- 
fully busy  man,  I  first  called  on  one  of  his  part- 
ners, Mr.  Edgar  Rickard,  who,  much  to  my  sur- 
prise, remembered  me  at  once,  and  placed  an  hour 
of  his  time  at  my  disposal.  I  told  him  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  my  coming  across,  of  Davy's  ex- 
treme desire  that  I  should  get  Into  something  other 
than  the  military  end  of  things,  and  so  forth,  and 
asked  him  to  give  me  an  outline  of  their  work, 
which  he  did,  as  follows : 

They  are  furnishing  bread  to  7,000,000  people, 
2,000,000  of  whom  are  absolutely  destitute.  To 
do  this  requires  a  considerable  office  corps  In  Lon- 
don and  Antwerp  and  about  forty  men  In  charge 
of  distribution  within  the  German  lines.  Every 
one  of  these  men  In  Belgium  is  required  to  have 
considerable  commercial  knowledge,  and  to  speak 
French  fluently  and  also  a  little  Flemish  by  prefer- 


84  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

ence.  Also,  every  man  must  be  perfectly  neutral 
in  thought,  word  and  deed.  Any  sign  of  prejudice 
is  likely  to  imperil  the  right  to  feed  seven  million 
people.  Mr.  Rickard  said  they  had  no  need  of 
any  more  men  for  another  two  months  and  did 
not  think  that  they  would  dare  to  take  me  on  any 
way. 

I  left  him  to  call  on  Mr.  Hoover,  who  was  also 
most  cordial,  read  my  letters  of  introduction  from 
Uncle  Charlie  and  George  Hoffman,  but  said  that 
they  did  not  need  any  more  men  until  the  Rhodes 
Scholars  were  due  back  at  Oxford  towards  the  end 
of  May.  This  put  Belgian  relief  off  the  boards. 
To  my  pleasure,  but  your  sorrow,  I  am  afraid. 

That  evening,  Thursday,  one  week  from  land- 
ing and  three  from  the  date  of  my  departure  from 
Sixteenth  Street,  I  called  on  Major  Fuller  of  the 
War  Office  at  his  home,  and  presented  my  letter 
from  Beaumont. 

He  was  very  busy,  but  came  out  to  see  me  for 
a  moment. 

Ten  days  later  I  walked  into  Uncle  Charlie's 
office  in  the  morning  and  found  a  letter  "On  His 
Majesty's  Service"  awaiting  me.  I  breathed  a 
soft  prayer,  said  to  myself,  "Here's  where  we  get 
it  where  the  chicken  got  the  axe !" — and  opened 
the  letter. 

It  contained  a  large  blue  four-paged  form — 
and  a  letter  from  Major  Fuller. 

At  eight  o'clock  that  night,  February  27th,  I 
left  Victoria  Station  for  Paris,  and  arrived  at  the 
Gare  St.  Lazare  a  little  before  ten. 


LETTERS    AND    COMMENT        85 

I  went  straight  to  the  boys'  (his  cousins,  Arthur 
and  Laurence  Schell)  new  offices  at  9  Ave.  de 
rOpera,  but  found  they  would  not  be  in  for  an 
hour,  so  I  walked  down  the  Rue  de  Rivoli  to  the 
Tuileries  and  on  into  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  to 
salute  the  statue  of  Strasbourg,  heaped  high  with 
wreaths  and  flowers,  and  bearing  the  flags  of  Bel- 
gium, France  and  England  In  battle  array. 

To  put  the  accomplishments  of  the  Paris  trip 
In  brief: 

I  was  advised  by  the  boys  to  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  French  Army,  as  there  were  no  com- 
missions given;  and  that  the  only  place  for  an 
American  was  In  the  Legion  Etrangere  where  the 
fifteen  hundred  American  Volunteers  had  been 
put,  split  up  into  companies  of  twenty  or  thirty 
men. 

The  return  across  the  Channel  was  equally  un- 
eventful (Arthur's  boat  was  shot  at  by  torpedo 
entering  Folkestone  harbour  the  week  before)  ex- 
cept that  I  met  some  rather  decent  American  Red 
Cross  men. 

I  have  already  told  you  that  I  called  on  Mrs. 
O'Sullivan  the  afternoon  I  left  for  Paris  and  found 
her  most  charming  and  hospitable.  She  has  since 
been  even  more  so,  putting  me  in  touch  with  In- 
fluential people  to  help  my  job  along,  and  insist- 
ing that  I  make  her  house  my  home  in  London.  I 
think  that  this  will  probably  turn  out  to  have  been 
the  only  introduction  out  of  my  many  that  I  have 
made  use  of — and  Mrs.  O'Sullivan  will  have  ac- 
complished everything  for  me. 

That  night,  the  second  of  March,  I  stayed  with 


86  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

her,  and  the  next  day  went  on  back  to  Beaumont, 
where  the  Rector  filled  out  two  pages  of  my  ap- 
plication for  commission,  vouching  for  my  moral 
character  and  standard  of  education,  and  Father 
Mayo  filled  in  the  Cadet  Corps  service  certificate. 
The  next  thing  was  to  see  the  colonel  of  a  regi- 
ment, who  must  have  a  talk  with  me  and  decide 
that  I  was  a  fit  man  to  hold  His  Majesty's  Com- 
mission— when  he  would  nominate  me  for  the  job. 
And  it  was,  of  course,  important  that  I  should  go 
to  some  one  who  would  know  whence  I  came  and 
that  I  was  all  right,  and  who  would  not  pick  any 
flaws  with  my  American  accent.  From  the  Rector 
I  found  that  the  best  man  was  Colonel  Curtiss, 
commanding  the  nth  Warwickshire  battalion  at 
Brighton,  himself  an  old  Beaumont  boy,  who  drew 
somewhat  on  the  school  O.  T.  C.  for  his  junior 
officers  when  they  could  spare  them. 

I  returned  to  Mrs.  O'SullIvan's  that  night. 

On  Thursday  morning,  March  4th,  my  lucky 
day  and  just  four  weeks  from  my  departure,  I 
went  down  to  Brighton  and  found  Colonel  Cur- 
tiss of  the  nth  Warwickshire.  He  was  very  kind 
and  talked  to  me  for  some  time.  I  gave  him  the 
family  history  and  he  nominated  me  at  once,  tell- 
ing how  glad  he  was  to  be  able  to  do  It  for  an 
old  Beaumont  boy  and  telling  me  that  I  would 
find  a  great  many  schoolfellows  sprinkled  through 
every  branch  of  the  service. 

As  every  infantry  officer  must  be  able  to  ride, 
he  asked  me  about  this  particularly;  and  when  I 
told  him  that  I  had  always  ridden  and  was  used 
to  handling  horses  both  In  the  stable  and  on  the 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT        87 

road,  he  said  he  would  very  probably  put  me  on 
the  guns  (artillery)  when  I  came  to  him.  He  told 
me  to  be  prepared  for  six  to  eight  months'  train- 
ing before  being  sent  on  to  the  front,  but  I  think 
that  was  a  little  bit  of  an  exaggeration. 

From  Colonel  Curtiss,  I  went  up  for  my  medical 
examination,  which  I  passed  In  just  forty  seconds, 
having  first  rate  chest  expansion,  a  forty  horse 
power  heart  and  eyes  that  see  In  the  dark.  Half 
an  hour  later,  properly  signed  and  O.K.'d  by 
every  one  required,  In  excellent  order,  my  appli- 
cation went  Into  the  post  In  one  of  the  Colonel's 
envelopes,  registered,  to  the  War  Office  on  His 
Majesty's  Service. 

From  Brighton  I  went  on  to  St.  Leonard's-on- 
Sea,  where  I  spent  the  night  with  Woggles  (Mr. 
Murray  Ogllvy).  He  was  In  fine  health  and 
spirits  and  anxious  to  be  remembered  to  you  all. 

I  returned  to  London  the  next  day,  March  5, 
and  got  to  Mrs.  O'SullIvan's  In  time  for  tea.  As 
soon  as  she  greeted  me,  she  asked  me  right  off  if 
I  had  my  commission,  and  I  was  able  to  tell  her 
that  the  application  had  gone  In. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "If  you  haven't  got  It,  I  think 
I  have  It  for  you!"  and  went  on  to  say  that  Ed- 
mund Davis,  a  power  in  the  World  of  Finance, 
and  an  old  partner  of  Cecil  Rhodes,  and  a  friend 
of  hers  who  lived  just  two  doors  away  in  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  houses  In  London,  was  looking 
for  a  man  on  behalf  of  Captain  Osborne,  Adju- 
tant of  the  Duke  of  Lancaster's  Own  Yeomanry  (a 
crack  territorial  cavalry  regiment)  to  take  a  com- 


88  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

mission  there.     He  must  ride  like  the  devil  and 
be  a  gentleman. 

I  was  therefore  immediately  sent  over  to  inter- 
view Mr.  and  Mrs.  Davis  and  he  remembered 
Papa — had  known  him  in  London  twelve  years 
ago  through  Wernher  Beit!  They  immediately 
wired  Osborne  about  me  (the  regiment  was  sta- 
tioned in  Southport,  north  of  Liverpool)  and  the 
following  morning  the  answer  came. 

^'Colonel  will  endeavour  to  hold  open  vacancy. 
Write  full  particulars  at  once.  If  satisfactory  will 
see  Butters.'' 

So,  Mr.  Davis  sat  down,  and  asking  me  for 
particulars,  wrote  a  fair  sketch  of  my  specifica- 
tions. At  the  last  he  asked  me  if  I  had  any  in- 
come and  I  told  him  that  I  hadn't  seen  a  sou  from 
my  father's  estate  since  last  April  and  didn't  ex- 
pect to  for  several  years.  Now,  as  this  was  a 
very  flush  regiment,  this  looked  bad,  but  he  said  he 
would  ask  Osborne  about  it.  Davis  was  most 
surprised  and  wanted  to  know  how  it  had  come 
about  that  I  was  so  poor,  so  I  described  the  North- 
ern Electric — Natomas  crash  to  him.  (Harry 
was  drawing  at  this  time  from  his  mother's  estate 
only,  and  to  a  very  limited  extent.) 

That  afternoon  I  returned  to  Stow  to  await 
telegraphic  news  from  Osborne,  either  that  it  was 
all  off,  or  that  I  was  to  com.e  on. 

All  of  the  family — including  the  maid — were 
really  and  truly  delighted  to  have  me  back  and 
Mrs.  Evans  immediately  began  to  spoil  me  again. 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT        89 

So  for  two  days  I  had  a  very  jolly  time  indeed, 
and  Tom  was  sent  for  to  come  up  from  Fish- 
guard. Then  on  Monday  morning  came  a  wire 
from  Mr.  Davis  telling  me  to  proceed  to  South- 
port  at  once  and  see  Capt.  Osborne. 

It  was  a  very  long  journey,  four  changes,  and 
I  did  not  get  there  until  seven  o'clock  that  night. 
I  went  to  the  Prince  of  Wales  Hotel,  where  a 
room  was  engaged  for  me,  and  proceeded  to  have 
a  wash  and  brush  up. 

Captain  Osborne  and  Colonel  Hardcastle  came 
in  about  eight  o'clock  and  we  went  right  In  to 
dinner. 

They  were  both  as  nice  and  kind  as  they  could 
be,  and  what  should  turn  up  but  that  Captain  Os- 
»  borne  also  knew  Papa  quite  well  In  London !  and 
was  last  year  himself  concerned  In  Natomas — so 
he  treated  me  throughout  In  a  very  fatherly  man- 
ner as  the  son  of  an  old  friend. 

Of  course  I  had  my  accent  pretty  well  toned 
down  for  the  occasion  (Harry's  accent  was  Ameri- 
can of  the  Americans)  and  everything  went  beau- 
tifully. At  coffee  we  got  down  to  business,  and  I 
started  the  question  "Were  they  going  to  the 
Front  in  Europe?"  and  "When  did  they  expect  to 
be  sent  on?" 

In  regard  to  the  first,  the  Colonel  thought  It 
extremely  unlikely — in  fact,  considered  It  probable 
that  they  would  be  sent  to  Turkey  after  the  forc- 
ing of  the  Dardanelles.  As  regarded  the  second 
question,  they  had  just  received  word  that  day 
that  they  would  not  leave  Southport  until  the  first 


90  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

of  May,  and  that  then  It  would  only  be  to  go  under 
canvas  here  at  home. 

Of  course,  I  told  them  that  I  had  come  over  to 
get  somewhere  in  the  front  of  the  major  opera- 
tions, and  that  at  present  it  hardly  seemed  likely 
that  there  would  be  any  anywhere  except  on  the 
European  Battle  Front. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  it  came  down  to 
this,  that  they  would  be  glad  to  give  me  the 
job;  but  the  fact  that  the  chances  of  getting  to  the 
Front  were  so  slim,  (coupled  with  what  I  could 
see  with  my  eyes,  that  my  expenses  with  their  mess 
would  be  more  than  my  pay  would  cover,)  forced 
me  to  refuse  it. 

I  did  not,  however,  lose  the  opportunity  to  get 
their  advice  as  to  what  would  be  my  best  chances 
of  getting  on,  and  Captain  Osborne,  being  very 
much  interested,  called  up  the  Mess,  Introduced 
me  and  proceeded  to  talk  it  over  with  the  senior 
officers.  They  discussed  one  scheme  after  another, 
all  of  them  requiring  several  months'  time  and 
numerous  difficulties  until  some  one  mentioned  the 
Royal  Flying  Corps.  Immediately  Captain  Os- 
borne became  most  excited  and  enthusiastic,  and 
you  can  imagine  I  did  myself,  because  had  I  had 
the  slightest  idea  tha15  there  was  any  possible 
chance  for  an  outsider  to  get  Into  their  blue  ribbon 
arm  of  the  service,  I  should  have  gone  straight 
after  It  In  the  first  place.  Osborne  said  he  thought 
it  would  be  easy  to  get  Into,  as  they  were  building 
planes  as  fast  as  ever  they  could,  and  did  not  find 
it  easy  to  get  men;  that  he  knew  nothing  about 
the  procedure,  but  that  if  he  were  a  young  man 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT        91 

he  would  most  certainly  go  for  It  In  preference  to 
the  crackest  of  crack  cavalry  regiments  In  the  ser- 
vice. Finally,  he  gave  me  a  letter  to  his  nephew,  a 
Mr.  Geach,  at  the  Automobile  Club  in  London, 
who  was  In  the  Cavalry,  but  who  was  going  to 
transfer  Into  the  Flying  Corps. 

The  next  morning  they  took  me  out  for  a  long 
ride  to  watch  the  cavalry  manoeuvring,  and  at  noon 
I  left  for  London,  via  Liverpool. 

I  got  In  that  night  and  went  to  a  hotel  for  din- 
ner, then  out  to  call  on  Mrs.  O'SullIvan  and  she 
made  me  stop  with  her. 

In  the  morning  I  went  over  to  see  Mr.  Davis 
and  report  to  him  on  my  visit  to  Captain  Osborne. 
I  told  him  all  about  It,  Including  the  Flying  Corps 
suggestion,  and  he  at  once  said  that  that  would  be 
easier  for  him  to  get  me,  and  that  he  was  going  to 
see  the  Admiralty  In  the  afternoon  and  would  find 
out  something  for  me. 

At  ten  o'clock  I  called  on  Geach  at  the  Automo- 
bile Club  and  he  gave  me  the  following  informa- 
tion: 

They  are  building  very  many  aeroplanes  and  are 
finding  It  a  little  difficult  to  get  men,  as  many  are 
a  little  bit  awed  constitutionally,  of  the  air  (as  a 
matter  of  fact,  of  course,  the  casualties  in  the  Fly- 
ing Corps  have  been  infinitely  less  In  this  war 
than  in  any  other  branch  of  the  service). 

There  are  two  branches — the  Royal  Flying 
Corps  (Army)  who  do  observation  over  the  battle 
front  and  a  certain  amount  of  fighting — and  the 
Royal  Naval  Aircraft  Service  (Navy),  who  are 
quartered  on  the  Channel  and  make  raids  on  sub- 


92  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

marine  bases,  forts,  etc.,  etc.,  and  sometimes  en- 
gage the  enemy's  machines.  I  think  these  are 
seaplanes  entirely,  rising  from  and  lighting  on, 
the  water. 

To  get  in  one  has  to  be  accepted  by  the  Ad- 
miralty Air  Board  and  pass  a  rigid  medical  exam 
for  heart,  lungs  and  sight.  You  are  then  sent  to 
one  of  the  coastal  flying  stations  where,  regardless 
of  whether  you  have  never  flown  or  are  the  best 
civilian  pilot  in  the  country,  you  have  to  take  the 
full  flying  course.  This  takes  up  expert  practical 
flying,  a  complete  study  of  the  engine,  some  navi- 
gation, a  study  of  air  currents,  practice  in  bomb 
dropping,  the  rapid  fire  aeroplane  gun,  pistol 
shooting,  map  observing  and  map  making. 

It  sounds  a  lot,  doesn't  it? 

And  I  suppose  that  to  cover  it  all  will  take  quite 
a  few  months,  but  the  thing  is,  as  soon  as  you  be- 
come a  confident  and  able  pilot,  you  are  attached 
to  your  squadron  of  twelve  machines  under  a 
squadron  commander,  given  your  machine  and 
observer  and  are  on  active  service.  Rank  as  an 
officer,  but  on  probation  like  a  midshipman,  and  do 
not  receive  your  commission  for  about  six  months. 
The  pay  is  high,  you  have  (usually)  all  night  in 
a  warm  bed,  plenty  of  baths,  the  healthiest  work 
in  the  world,  no  danger  of  being  cut  up  or  crip- 
pled and  very  long  leaves  of  absence — I  think  a 
month  or  two  on  duty,  then  a  month  off. 

You  are  the  very  cream  of  the  service,  the  blue 
ribbon  and  everybody  loves  you  and  admires  you 
and  envies  you  and  entertains  you — oi:  words  to 
that  effect. 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT        93 

So  much  for  that,  and  as  I  haven't  got  the  job 
yet  and  may  still  be  with  the  Warwickshire  guns 
instead,  I  will  not  go  into  the  great  vista  that  I 
see  the  Aircraft  Service  opening  up  for  H.A.B. 
personally,  but  will  wait  until  I  am  definitely 
started  in  the  work.  I  must  only  take  time  to  say 
here  that  I  have  felt  very  strongly  since  I  got 
over  here — even  more  so  than  when  I  was  leaving 
home — that  I  am  catching  the  crest  of  the  wave  in 
that  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men  which,  taken  at  its 
flood,  leads  on  to  fortune.  I  looked  for  that  be- 
fore I  left  home,  and  so  did  you,  but  you  looked 
for  it  to  come  in  one  way,  and  I  in  another;  and 
it  looks  as  if  we  were  both  way  off.  I  told  you 
that  I  am  not  wedded  to  any  one  scheme,  but  that 
I  knew  that  the  opportunity  would  make  itself 
plain  to  me  sometime  when  I  got  over  here  and 
I  think  that  it  is  doing  so  just  now.  I  will  write 
in  much  more  detail  about  this  particular  side  of 
the  matter  as  soon  as  I  get  started  In  the  work, 
and  I  will  reconcile  your  minds  to  it  very  much 
more  completely.  At  present,  I  myself  am  only 
conscious  of  a  very  great  hope  and  a  feeling  of 
magnificent  confidence,  but  long,  long  plans  will 
keep  opening  up  ahead,  inspiring  to  think  upon. 

Edmund  Davis  has  written  Admiral  Slade  for 
a  letter  of  introduction  for  me  to  Captain  Saetor, 
Chief  of  the  Air  Department  at  the  Admiralty, 
and  I  have  come  back  to  Stow  to  await  word  that 
it  has  arrived,  which  I  hope  will  come  to-morrow. 

In  all  probability  then,  Tom  and  I  will  be  go- 
ing up  to  London  for  several  days,  on  Monday. 
I  to  try  to  land  this  Flying  Commission  and  he  to 


94  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

work  up  his  Belgian  scheme  with  Hoover  and 
Mrs.  O'SullIvan,  who  Is  also  closely  connected 
with  the  refugee  work  In  that  country.  If  he  can- 
not start  this  grand  scheme  of  his,  and  I  greatly 
fear  that  the  times  are  not  propitious,  he  should 
have  no  difficulty  In  getting  his  commission  In  the 
Army  Service  Corps. 

And  now  I  want  to  get  this  aboard  to-morrow's 
steamer,  so  with  a  world  of  love,  au  revoir  for  a 
few  days. 

Always  most  affectionately, 

Habs. 

Of  course,  I  can  fly  an  aeroplane  In  half  an 
hour's  time — I  have  always  known  this. 


To  David  and  Lucile, 

The  Rectory, 
Stow-on-the-Wold, 
Glos. 
21  March,  1915. 

Dearest  Dave  and  Gookie  : 

Just  a  week  since  I  mailed  the  thirty-two  page 
letter  with  all  my  ventures  up  to  that  date,  and 
to-day  Is  the  first  chance  I  have  had  to  sit  down 
and  send  you  the  first  result  of  them  all — which  Is 
good — ^but  quite  different  from  what  I  expected  to 
give  you. 

Know  then,  that  on  the  12th  of  March  I  was 
commissioned  a  2nd  Lieutenant,  and  attached  to 
the  nth  BattaHon  of  the  Royal  Warwickshlres 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT        95 

(Infantry)  the  7th  line  regiment  of  the  regular 
army.  I  have  already  joined,  but  am  on  a  week's 
leave  until  Wednesday  the  24th.  I  am  also  In 
khaki  until  the  end  of  the  war. 


I  think  I  mailed  your  letter  a  week  ago  yes- 
terday. Well,  the  following  (Sunday)  morning, 
I  found  an  official  letter  In  the  post  which  upon 
being  opened  disclosed  the  following: 

"War  Office, 
London,  S.  W. 

12  March. 

Sir: 

I  am  directed  to  Inform  you  that  you  have  been 
appointed  to  a  temporary  Second  Lieutenancy  in 
the  New  Army. 

You  have  been  posted  to  the  nth  Service  Bat- 
talion, Royal  Warwickshire  Regt.,  and  should  join 
that  unit  for  duty  at  Brighton.  On  receipt  of  this 
communication  you  should  report  yourself  by  let- 
ter or  telegram  to  the  Adjutant  of  your  Battalion. 

Expenses  Incurred  in  travelling  to  join  on  first 
appointment  must  be  paid  by  yourself. 

You  should  draw  your  outfit  allowance  from 
your  Army  Agents  or  Paymaster  and  should  pro- 
vide yourself  with  bedding  and  camp  kit  before 
joining. 

I  am, 

Sir,  etc. 
XSigned)  E.  W.  M.  Narie, 
Colonel, 
Ass't  Military  Sec'y." 


96  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

There  were  two  inclosures,  one  being  a  schedule 
of  pay  and  allowances,  and  the  other  a  list  headed 
*'FIeld  Kits  of  Dismounted  Services." 

I  took  the  first  train  to  London  and  went 
straight  to  Mrs.  O'SullIvan's.  Gave  her  the  news, 
then  went  over  to  Mr.  Edmund  Davis  (who,  you 
will  recollect,  sent  me  up  to  Southport  to  the  Duke 
of  Lancaster's  Own  and  was  looking  up  the  Fly- 
ing Corps  for  me)  and  told  him  also.  I  made  It 
plain  that  I  must  report  for  duty  the  next  day,  but 
that  I  should  probably  be  granted  some  leave,  and 
asked  him  to  see  all  his  people  at  once  if  possible, 
and  see  what  he  could  do  to  shift  me  Into  the  air. 

Next  morning  (Monday)  I  went  down  to 
Brighton  and  on  twenty  minutes  further  to  Shore- 
ham,  where  the  Warwicks  are  quartered  in  a  devil 
of  a  big  camp. 

I  reported  to  the  Adjutant,  told  him  that  I  was 
just  looking  up  the  Flying  Corps  and  asked  him 
what  I  should  do.  He  told  me  to  take  forty-eight 
hours'  leave,  and  to  apply  for  as  much  more  as  I 
needed.  So  I  came  straight  back  to  London  and 
applied  for  a  week,  which  I  received  word  two 
days  later  was  sanctioned. 

In  the  next  two  days  Edmund  Davis  got  re- 
plies to  his  letters,  and  some  good  people  con- 
nected with  the  Admiralty,  and  I  went  down  to 
the  Royal  Aircraft  Factory  at  Farnborough,  and 
saw  the  manager  and  the  officials  of  the  Military 
Wing  of  the  Air  Service.  I  will  not  bother  you 
with  the  different  ramifications  of  the  search,  be- 
cause since  it  Is  off  the  boards,  I  have  completely 
lost  interest  in  it,  for  I  am  incapable  of  crying  over 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT        97 

spilt  milk — I  will  only  give  you  the  sum  of  what 
we  found  out — thus: — 

First — I  would  have  been  unsuccessful  in  the 
first  place  in  my  attempt  For  the  Naval  Wing  on 
account  of  my  American  citizenship,  because  the 
navy  grants  no  temporary  commissions  and  is  do- 
ing no  recruiting  to  speak  of.  In  the  second  place, 
It  was  at  any  rate  impossible,  being  already  com- 
missioned in  the  Army  to  get  transferred  to  the 
Navy. 

Second — I  had  not  thought  anything  about  the 
Military  Wing,  which  (I  believe)  is  used  more  ex- 
tensively for  observation  purposes  than  any  other, 
and  did  not  like  it  particularly  when  I  came  to 
think  of  it.  I  probably  could  arrange  a  transfer 
into  it,  but  it  would  be  extremely  indefinite  as  to 
whether  it  would  be  weeks  or  months  before  the 
transfer  would  come  around  to  my  turn,  and  in 
the  meantime  I  should  be  very  much  in  suspense 
as  to  what  I  was  going  to  do,  and  would  be  train- 
ing for  the  infantry  without  much  heart  in  my 
work.  Therefore,  I  gave  up  the  idea  entirely. 
The  funny  part  of  it  is  that  the  commission, 
which  I  hold,  came  to  me  without  the  smallest  in- 
fluence being  brought  to  bear,  of  its  own  accord, 
eight  days  after  I  mailed  the  application  from 
Beaumont  College — and  most  men  have  been  a 
month  or  even  very  much  longer  in  getting  theirs. 
So  IVe  got  it  and  shall  go  to  the  work  of  my 
training  immediately  upon  the  expiration  of  my 
leave. 

I  have  found  out  that  I  am  one  of  a  list  of 
forty  supernumerary  officers  attached  to  the  nth 


98  HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

Battalion,  so  I  shall  probably  be  transferred  In  a 
few  weeks  to  the  3rd  Reserve  Battalion,  stationed 
on  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  as  this  Is  the  one  from 
which  the  drafts  are  being  drawn  for  the  front,  I 
shall  hope  with  good  luck  to  be  sent  on  sometime 
In  June  or  July,  with  fifty  or  sixty  men. 

As  saon  as  I  found  that  I  had  the  week's  extra 
leave,  I  sent  for  Tom  to  come  to  London  and  we 
stayed  three  days  at  the  Cecil.  We  had  an  aw- 
fully decent  visit,  and  In  fact  are  enjoying  all  of 
our  time  together.  You  can  Imagine  that  we  talk 
of  you  constantly. 

I  don't  know  that  there  Is  a  great  deal  more 
to  say.  I  shall  be  here  at  Stow  through  to- 
morrow, and  shall  go  on  to  Brighton  on  Tues- 
day, so  as  to  have  a  day  In  which  to  get  my  camp 
kit  and  myself  installed  In  my  quarters,  meet  the 
Mess  and  spy  out  the  lay  of  the  land  before  I 
report  for  duty  at  2.00  p.  M.  on  Wednesday. 

Colonel  Curtiss,  who  organized  the  battalion 
and  who  nominated  me  for  my  commission,  has 
turned  over  his  old  servant  to  me,  and  given  me 
introductions  to  most  of  the  junior  officers. 

I  draw  7s.  6d.  a  day  In  addition  to  quarters, 
light,  heat,  and  rations — or  just  what  we  pay 
scraper-hands  on  the  Ranch — "a  dollar  six  bits  and 
found."  I  also  draw  £50 — allowance  to  purchase 
my  kit. 

Now,  my  dearest  guardians,  I  came  over  here 
to  get  Into  the  war  and  get  to  the  front — that  part 
at  least  I  think  you  understood.    So  I  have  gotten 


Arrival  at  Stow-ox-the-Wold 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT        99 

the  place  that  my  whole  nature  has  been  hollering 
for  me  to  take  ever  since  the  war  opened,  and  I 
beheve  that  It  Is  the  right  job  for  me.  I  believe 
that  I  need  the  experience  of  this  war  and  that 
great  good  will  come  out  of  it.  I  believe  it  so  hard 
that  I  know  It. 

I  have  thought  of  you  as  well  as  of  myself  in 
going  after  It.  Gookle  will  believe  this,  but  Davy 
will  be  Incredulous — Nevertheless,  It  Is  so,  Old 
Man,  I  have.  In  order  to  be  the  pride  to  you  that 
you  want  me  to  be  (I  say  pride  because  Heaven 
and  you  both  know  that  I  will  never  be  a  com- 
fort). It  Is  necessary  for  me  to  go  on  a  very  long 
journey  through  strange  lands  where  all  sorts  of 
experiences  will  knock  what  Is  false  out  of  my 
character,  and  weld  and  temper  the  fine  part  that 
Is  left,  Into  the  man  that  I  ought  to  be.  This 
journey  for  me  Is  the  War.  I  have  known  It 
since  August,  and  have  worked  ever  since,  as  you 
know,  with  the  one  end — to  have  my  part  In  It. 
And  now  that  I  have  got  It,  I  am  happy.  I  go  as 
an  officer  In  a  fine  regiment — that  ought  to  be  some 
consolation  to  you  anyhow. 

Fondest  love, 

Habs. 


Ill 

IN  TRAINING 


To  Lucile. 


iiTH  Royal  Warwickshire, 
Shoreham  Camp, 
29   March,    1915. 

Dearest  Gookie: 

I  have  been  busy  with  the  start  of  my  training 
for  a  week.  I  hope  to  get  up  for  a  two  weeks' 
course  of  Instruction  at  Chelsea  Barracks,  Lon- 
don (staying  with  my  dear  Mrs.  O'SullIvan)  and 
after  that  to  transfer  to  the  3rd  Reserve  Battalion 
of  either  the  Warwickshires  or  some  other  regi- 
ment now  at  the  front  In  France.  This  will  mean 
that  I  will  not  have  to  wait  for  the  whole  bat- 
talion to  be  ready,  but  will  have  the  chance  to  get 
out  to  the  front  with  a  draft  of  men  sometime  in 
June  or  July.  For  the  present,  I  am  comfortably 
billeted  here  In  the  town. 

Yours  and  Davy's  answer  to  my  cable,  which  I 
received  this  morning,  is  far  and  away  the  best 
and  brightest  and  most  encouraging  word  I  have 
had  yet  and  has  made  me  feel  absolutely  ri^ht. 
I  am  satisfied  that  you,  dearest,  understand  all 
things  that  I  do,  to  a  greater  extent  even  than  you 
yourself  realize.     I  only  mean  by  this  that  you 

100 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT       loi 

feel  things  about  me  that  you  yourself  admit  be- 
ing unable  to  explain.  But  I  want  Davy  too  at 
least  to  be  happy  over  what  I  am  doing. 

I  can't  tell  you  how  frightfully  good  Jack  and 
Mrs.  Evans  and  Alice  are  to  me.  I  have  my 
room  there  all  set  up  all  the  time  that  I  am  away 
to  come  back  to,  and  Stow  is  really  a  home  on  this 
side. 

Alice  and  Mrs.  Evans  are  knitting  sox  for  me 
and  otherwise  looking  after  my  bodily  needs. 

Father  Carey,  I  told  you  from  Paris,  had  your 
letter  and  we  had  a  long  talk  over  it.  I  told  him 
that  he  must  be  sure  to  write  you  every  time  he  saw 
me  because  he  would  prove  the  most  sympathetic 
mouthpiece  on  this  side  of  the  water  to  sing  my 
praises  to  you.  He  is  an  awfully  good  chap  and 
a  dear  friend — and  very  much  fascinated  by  your 
handwriting. 

To  go  back  to  your  letter  to  him,  which  he  did 
not  read  to  me,  but  of  which  he  told  me  the  con- 
tents, it  was  your  idea  that  I  might  possibly  at  this 
time  be  leaning  back  towards  the  Church,  in  which 
case,  as  Father  Tim  said,  now  was  certainly  the 
time  of  all  times  to  return  to  the  Sacraments. 

Now  you  know,  dearest,  that  I  would  rather 
tear  myself  in  four  pieces  than  willingly  to  give  you 
pain,  but  this  is  after  all  the  great  thing  that  there 
can  be  no  quibbling  about,  the  thing  that  I  must 
face  squarely,  and  in  unimpeachable  sincerity,  and 
I  can  only  tell  you  the  truth  as  I  see  it. 

And  for  me,  dearest  heart,  the  Church  is  far 
more  impossible  to  return  to  to-day  than  It  was 
the  day  that  I  first  left  it,  when  I  felt  that  I  was 


102        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

no  longer  of  its  faith  In  articles  of  doctrine.  It  is 
no  good,  dear — you  must  continue  to  have  faith  in 
me  and  in  my  spiritual  progress  alone  as  I  stand. 
And  you  must  not  think  that  there  is  call  for  you 
to  sorrow  over  a  hurt  that  I  have  received  or  a 
quandary  that  I  am  in — ^because  I  am  happy  and 
hopeful  in  my  own  faith  (which  after  all  is  pretty 
largely  the  same  as  your  own)  and  have  no  fear  of 
the  future. 

As  this  Is  the  most  important  thing  I  had  to  say 
to  you,  I  am  going  to  close  with  it.  I  shall  write 
you  every  time  I  get  the  chance  from  now  on, 
whether  short  or  long,  Irrelevant  or  very  much  to 
the  point.  I  am  going  to  make  it  a  habit  to  pick 
up  my  pen  and  dash  off  a  page  at  night  over  any 
little  thing  that  has  happened  during  the  day. 

But  this  is  all  now,  except  love  and  kisses  from 

Habs. 


To  Lucile, 


Brighton, 
9  April,  1915. 


Dearest  Gookie  : 

Your  prayers  have  prevailed  to  land  me  onto 
what  Is  going  to  turn  out  to  be  the  best  job  in 
the  whole  army. 

I  have  been  attached  to  the  Royal  Field  Artil- 
lery, pending  permanent  transfer.  I  am  mounted 
again,  and  going  back  into  boots  and  breeches;  and 
I  have  made  three  friends  in  the  Divisional  Staff 
. — two    Majors    and    one    General,    Sir   Godfrey 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       103 

Thomas.  As  I  got  these  friends  without  a  shade 
of  an  introduction,  it  must  be  as  I  said  at  the  start 
of  this  letter — that  your  prayers  have  prevailed ! 

I  had  to  over-ride  the  Warwickshire  regiment 
and  the  73rd  Brigade's  express  orders  to  get  the 
job,  and  I  have  enjoyed  the  taste  of  my  first  whack 
at  official  medicine  mixing. 

I  will  write  the  whole  thing  In  detail  as  soon 
as  I  have  time,  but  I  wanted  to  get  away  this  word 
to  you  to-night  to  let  you  know  of  my  great  luck 
and  my  extravagant  elation  over  It. 

Good-night,  dearest, 

Habs. 


A  General  Letter, 


Prince's  Hotel, 
Brighton, 
14  April,  1915. 


Dearest  Dave  and  Gookie: 

In  my  last  "general"  letter,  I  told  of  my  ap- 
pointment to  a  commission  In  the  Infantry  (War- 
wickshire Regiment)  and  In  a  later  personal  one 
to  Davy  I  outlined  my  plan  of  action  to  get  the 
start  of  my  Infantry  training  at  the  Chelsea  Bar- 
racks' drill  course,  and  as  soon  after  as  possible 
to  transfer  to  a  3rd  reserve  battalion,  whence  I 
should  have  the  chance  to  get  on  to  the  front  In- 
side of  a  couple  of  months,  with  a  draft  of  men 
to  fill  out  some  gap  In  the  regiment. 

From  the  start,  I  found  myself  misplaced  In  the 
infantry,  but  still  I  thought  that  It  was  far  better 
to  get  to  the  front  on  foot,  than  to  stay  on  this 


I04        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

side  of  the  Channel  for  another  six  months,  and 
perhaps  never  get  out  at  all  In  the  cavalry — and 
somehow,  all  the  time  I  felt  that  It  would  all  come 
right.  How  It  has  come  so,  I  have  already  writ- 
ten Gookle  in  brief,  but  it  should  be  new  to  the 
rest  of  you  and  my  letter  to  her  lacked  all  details. 
So  I  will  go  ahead  with  the  yarn. 

I  think  it  was  on  the  2nd  of  April,  after  I  had 
been  a  week  at  Shoreham,  that  I  attended  a  bri- 
gade lecture  in  the  evening  by  a  man  who  had  just 
returned  from  five  months  at  the  front  and  been 
attached  to  the  Staff  of  the  24th  Division.  This 
was  Major  Claud  A.  Potter  of  the  Royal  Field 
Artillery. 

I  hadn't  been  listening  to  him  and  his  account 
of  the  artillery  work  at  the  front,  for  more  than 
ten  minutes,  before  I  decided  that  the  guns  were 
the  place  for  Habs  and  that  he  was  going  to  get 
on  to  them  as  quickly  as  ever  he  knew  how. 

I  did  not  stop  to  consider  the  means,  nor  the 
fact  that  to  transfer  from  one  branch  of  the  Brit- 
ish Army  to  another  is  a  most  momentous  mat- 
ter, requiring  almost  an  act  of  Parliament  to 
put  it  through — I  saw  only  that  I  had  finally  run 
across  the  work  that  I  was  really  cut  out  for,  and 
that  it  was  up  to  me  to  grab  it. 

Major  Potter  seemed,  from  the  platform,  to 
be  a  most  charming  fellow  and  quite  approach- 
able, so  after  the  lecture  I  bolted  up  and  collared 
him  before  he  had  a  chance  to  break  away — asked 
if  he  could  spare  me  five  minutes  any  time  within 
the  next  two  or  three  days,  and  was  told  to  come 
to  Division  Headquarters  any  time  during  hours. 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT       105 

I  went  the  next  afternoon,  immediately  after  pa- 
rade. 

Major  Potter  did  not  come  In  for  a  few  min- 
utes after  my  arrival  and  when  he  did,  he  asked 
me  to  tea,  so  that  I  had  ample  opportunity  to 
develop  my  point.  I  gave  him  my  whole  yarn  in 
brief,  laying  particular  stress  on  the  fact  that  I 
had  come  over  expressly  to  take  a  cavalry  com- 
mission, but  had  given  it  up  and  gone  into  the  in- 
fantry so  as  to  be  sure  of  getting  to  the  front, 
ending  up  with  the  inspiration  his  lecture  had 
given  me  to  get  into  the  artillery,  and  asked  him 
how  I  was  to  go  about  my  transfer. 

After  thinking  it  over  a  little  while,  he  told  me 
the  procedure — namely  that  my  application  would 
have  to  go  in,  in  quadrupHcate,  accompanied  by 
a  new  medical  certificate  to  my  commanding  offi- 
cer, who  would  have  to  nominate  me,  and  send 
the  application  to  the  Brigade  headquarters,  who 
would  forward  it  to  Division  headquarters,  who 
would  send  it  on  to  the  War  Office,  where  it  would 
lie  for  a  few  weeks  or  months  until  room  was 
found  for  me  in  some  Division  of  Artillery.  But, 
if  I  could  find  a  General  commanding  a  Division 
willing  to  take  me,  and  pin  his  letter  of  acceptance 
to  my  application,  there  would  be  no  reason  why 
it  should  not  go  through  in  short  order.  And  by 
the  same  token,  he  (Major  Potter)  wished  he 
could  get  me  into  the  24th  Division  here,  but  he 
did  not  think  that  there  was  much  chance.  He 
would  find  out,  however,  and  let  me  know  in  a 
day  or  so.  I  went  away  not  greatly  encouraged, 
but  still  quite  confident,  to  await  his  word. 


io6        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

(Three  days  later  Woggles  [Mr.  Murray 
Ogilvy]  arrived  to  spend  Easter  with  me  and 
remained  through  the  somewhat  exciting  events 
which  follow.  We  had  a  bully  time  together  and 
he  has  written  Gookle  about  It.) 

On  Easter  Monday  morning,  following  out  a 
letter  to  the  same  effect  which  he  had  written  me 
a  couple  of  days  before.  Major  Potter  sent  for 
me,  and  gave  me  a  letter  to  Brigade  Major  Rob- 
erts of  the  24th  Division  of  Royal  Field  Artil- 
lery In  Brighton,  who  would  Introduce  me  to 
General  Sir  Godfrey  Thomas,  commanding  the 
Division — and  after  that  it  would  be  up  to  Habs. 

Major  Potter  was  sorry  to  say  that  the  chances 
were  very  slim,  as  there  had  been  a  couple  of 
fresh  officers  posted  only  the  day  before — never- 
theless it  was  a  chance,  he  wished  me  success,  and 
would  be  greatly  interested  to  hear  how  it  should 
turn  out,  and  I  was  to  tear  into  it. 

Needless  to  say,  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  was 
going  to  talk  a  job  out  of  Godfrey,  if  it  took  me 
all  day.     I  summoned  my  forces. 

At  noon  exactly,  I  strode  into  Division  Head- 
quarters (R.  F.  A.)  and  presented  my  letter  to 
Brigadier  Major  Roberts.  The  General  would 
not  be  in  for  half  an  hour,  so  we  chatted  pleas- 
antly during  that  time  on  subjects  ranging  from 
the  intense  anti-German  sentiment  in  the  United 
States,  to  the  latest  news  from  the  Dardanelles, 
not  to  mention  the  whole  of  my  own  trouble  over 
again. 

Then,  Sir  Godfrey  came  In. 

As  I  had  my  hat  off,  I  did  not  salute  him.     I 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      107 

bowed  very  low  instead  and  waited  for  him  to 
speak. 

Major  Roberts  collared  him  and  for  a  couple 
of  minutes  I  could  hear  him  In  very  low  tones 
evidently  giving  an  account  of  me.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  the  General  looked  pleasantly  across 
the  room  at  me  and  asked — 

*'You  want  to  transfer  to  the  Artillery,  eh?" 

*Tes,  sir." 

*'Well,  I  don't  suppose  there  will  be  any  diffi- 
culty, what?  You  know  how  to  make  out  your 
application?" 

'Tes,  sir." 

"All  right." 

*WI11  you  take  me  then,  sir?" 

"Eh?  Why,  yes.  I  suppose  so.  I  suppose 
you're  all  right,  aren't  you?" 

"As  far  as  I  know,  sir — I'll  certainly  be  a 
handy  man  for  you  to  have." 

"All  right." 

"Thank  you.  General.  Can  you  give  me  any 
Idea  of  how  long  my  transfer  will  take  to  go 
through?" 

"Oh,  that  may  take  several  weeks,  but  you  had 
better  apply  for  leave  pending  transfer  and  come 
over  here  and  start  your  work  at  once." 

"I  will,  sir.  Thank  you  very  much,  and  good- 
bye," and  I  dashed  out  into  the  street  and  grabbed 
Woggles  around  the  waist  and  danced  him  down 
to  the  street  corner — hollering  into  his  ear — "I 
got  It"— "Thank  God"— "To  Hell  with  Ger- 
many"— and  a  few  other  such  bursts  of  pent-up 
emotion  and  gratitude. 


io8        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

It  was  just  as  simple  as  that,  after  all. 

Now,  three  days  later,  on  Friday,  the  yth  of 
April,  the  Warwickshires  were  to  move  to  a 
desolate  spot  on  Salisbury  Plain  for  a  month's 
training  under  canvas,  preparatory  to  the  battal- 
ion's leaving  for  the  front  (supernumerary  offi- 
cers to  be  left  in  England,  of  course)  so,  as  the 
last  thing  in  the  world  that  I  wanted  to  do  was 
to  accompany  them,  I  lost  no  time  in  sending  in 
my  application  for  transfer  to  the  R.  F.  A.  to 
the  Adjutant — accompanied  by  the  request  for 
leave  pending  transfer  as  per  General  Thomas' 
advice.  When  I  did  not  hear  from  this  by  Thurs- 
day morning,  I  began  to  get  anxious  and  started 
a  little  Investigation,  but  could  find  out  nothing 
until  two  o'clock,  when  the  Assistant  Adjutant 
came  up  to  me  after  lunch  and  in  a  leisurely  tone 
of  voice  announced, 

"Oh,  Butters,  your  application  for  leave  has 
been  refused.  The  brigade  has  returned  it  with 
a  very  emphatic  minute  to  the  effect  that  they  can- 
not forward  It,  as  the  Division  has  already  re- 
fused to  consider  any  requests  for  leave  of  this 
nature.  You  will  have  to  accompany  the  bat- 
talion to  Salisbury  Plain  and  await  the  time  of 
your  transfer." 

I  said  "The  hell  I  will!"  but  I  must  say  I  felt 
sick  because  I  had  just  about  three  hours  ahead 
In  which  to  get  the  Division  to  reverse  their  or- 
ders to  the  Brigade,  and  for  them  to  get  fresh 
orders  through  to  me  before  the  offices  should 
close. 

However,  I  started  out  for  Divisional  Head- 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      109 

quarters  on  the  double  and  broke  through  to  my 
dear  and  ever  kind  Major  Potter's  sanctum 
where  I  proceeded  to  detail  my  troubles. 

He  immediately  got  the  wires  hot  to  General 
Thomas  to  put  him  onto  the  Divisional  Staff.  Un- 
fortunately, he  could  not  locate  either  the  Gen- 
eral or  any  one  else  at  the  moment,  but  he  put 
Central  on  to  hunt  them  up  in  whatever  part  of  the 
country  they  should  be,  and  told  me  to  come  back 
later  in  the  afternoon. 

I  journeyed  forth  to  a  couple  of  hours'  acute 
worry,  but  when  I  returned,  his  greeting  was : 

^'Everything  is  all  right,  and  you  are  attached  to 
Royal  Artillery,  pending  permanent  transfer." 

I  was  incoherent  in  thanking  him,  for  I  had  been 
under  a  rotten  suspense  and  I  only  remember 
telling  him  that  I  was  more  grateful  to  him  than 
to  any  one  that  I  had  ever  met  in  my  life,  and 
that  I  was  going  to  thank  him  by  making  myself 
the  best  officer  that  he  ever  arranged  a  transfer 
for. 

He  smiled  and  said  that  I  was  talking  nonsense 
— but  quite  seriously  to  you,  my  dearest  folks,  I 
surely  meant  it. 

The  next  morning,  as  the  Warwickshlres  en- 
trained for  Salisbury  Plain,  I  took  the  train  for 
Brighton,  and  Woggles  left  me  to  return  to  St. 
Leonards.  I  reported  again  to  Major  Roberts, 
who  posted  me  to  the  Divisional  Ammunition  Col- 
umn for  the  present  under  Colonel  Talbot. 

Here  I  found  the  two  sections  at  Brighton  to 
contain  about  two  hundred  and  forty  men  with  six 
subalterns  to  handle  them,   so  I  knew  that  my 


no        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

training  was  about  to  start  at  last,  and  was  filled 
with  joy  In  anticipation. 

Every  day  since,  I  have  either  been  Orderly 
Officer  with  about  sixteen  miles  of  Inspections  to 
make — stables,  men's  billets,  guard  room,  etc., 
spread  out  all  over  the  town — or  else  I  have  had 
charge  of  about  fifty  men  all  day  on  different 
parades  and  drill,  with  only  one  competent  non- 
commissioned officer,  a  small  part  of  the  time,  to 
teach  me.    So  I  have  come  on  fast. 

Already  I  have  the  dismounted  drill  well  in 
hand,  and  have  gotten  well  along  with  the 
(dummy)  driving  drill.  I  am  beginning  to  be 
able  to  read  semaphore  signals,  and  when  it  has 
come  to  tent-pitching  and  horse-picketing,  I  be- 
lieve I  can  give  even  the  General  cards  and  spades. 

Very  soon  I  hope  to  go  down  to  Shoeburyness 
for  my  four  weeks'  gunnery  course,  (at  which  I 
have  every  intention  of  making  a  record),  and 
when  I  return  from  It  and  am  able  to  have  a  couple 
of  weeks  with  the  gun  teams  Inspanned  I  will  be 
ready  to  take  the  field.  When  that  day  comes, 
I  shall  again  go  after  my  dear  Major  and  get 
him  to  rustle  me  the  best  job  going  for  the  front. 
But  for  the  present,  and  until  then,  I  can  have 
no  room  for  any  thoughts  other  than  to  learn  this 
job,  if  possible,  a  little  more  thoroughly  and  a 
little  more  quickly  than  It  has  ever  been  done  be- 
fore. 

Don't,  I  beg  of  you,  my  dearest  folks,  take 
this  letter  to  be  boastful  or  puffed  up.  I  am 
pleased  with  myself,  yes,  but  I  am  far  more  grate- 
ful to  the  Bon  DIeu  for  the  magnificent  luck  that 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       in 

He  has  sent  me  in  answer  to  your  prayers,  and  the 
exuberant  tone  of  this  letter  Is  accountable  directly 
to  the  tremendous  enthusiasm  I  have  for  this  work, 
an  enthusiasm,  I  must  tell  you,  that  Is  far  greater 
than  I  have  ever  had  for  any  thing  that  I  have 
ever  tackled. 

I  have  accomplished  In  the  last  few  days,  some- 
thing that  I  have  never  reached  before  In  my  life. 

I  have  struck  my  gait. 

Always  most  affectionately, 

Habs. 


To  Lucile, 

24TH  Divisional  Ammunition  Column,  R.  F.  A. 

Happy  Valley   Camp, 
Shoreham-by-sea, 
5  May,   1915. 

Dearest  Gookie, 

You  were  quite  right  In  surmising  that  I  heard 
Mass  on  Easter — also  the  morning  service  on 
Good  Friday.  These  two,  and  Christmas  Eve  at 
midnight,  I  never  like  to  miss. 


Mrs.  O'SullIvan  is  most  constantly  good  to  me. 
The  last  thing  before  he  was  hurt,  she  was  try- 
ing to  get  a  job  for  Tommy.  Her  house  is  always 
open  to  me  in  town,  and  I  am  officially  ac- 
knowledged as  one  of  her  ''step-sons." 

No,  my  dearest — I  can  never  cease  to  be  duly 
grateful  for  the  absolutely  thundering  good  luck 
that  has  been  mine.     My  own  part  has  been  to 


112         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

miss  no  single  opportunity  that  promised  to  be  an 
aid  to  the  attainment  of  my  object.  But  I  verily 
believe  that  your  dear  prayers  have  been  the  direct 
cause  of  the  opportunities  coming  into  being. 

Sonny's  (Davy's  boy)  remark  about  the  dragon 
was  surely  cunning.  Tell  him  that  if  he  never 
forgets  his  uncle  Habs,  he  will  get  something  at 
least  remotely  akin  to  a  dragon  on  my  return.  It 
may  be  a  German  or  even  possibly  a  Turk — but 
we'll  not  make  any  promises  as  to  its  exact  na- 
ture, but  wait  until  we  see  what  the  European 
Dragon  market  discloses  during  the  campaign. 

And  now,  dear,  send  a  little  note  to  Major 
Claud  Potter,  R.  F.  A.,  24th  Div.  Staff  Hdqs., 
Shoreham-by-Sea.  He  is  the  man  who  made  it 
possible  for  me  to  get  into  the  artillery  and  to 
whom  I  am  so  very,  very  grateful.  Just  tell  him 
that  you  are  my  American  sister  and  that  you 
share  my  gratitude.  I  hope  some  day  to  serve 
under  him. 

Devotedly, 

Habs. 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      113 


To— 
Bray  Bros.,  (Luclle's  husband  and  his  brother) 
200  Sacramento  St., 
San  Francisco,  U.  S.  A. 

24TH  Divisional  Ammunition  Column, 

Royal  Field  Artillery, 
9  May,  19 1 5. 

Beloved  "Two  Hundred," 

How  good  of  you  all  to  chip  in  on  that  bully 
round-robin !  It  surely  did  brirxg  back  old  times 
and  was  no  end  of  a  source  of  pleasure  to  me. 

You  must  not  talk  about  my  being  home  soon, 
because  I  will  not  come  into  the  office  again  for 
a  very  long  time,  and  in  the  meanwhile  I  don't 
want  to  think  of  you  all  as  being  too  far  away. 
The  talk  of  the  end  of  the  War  being  in  sight  is 
arising  out  of  such  things  as  the  women's  peace 
conferences,  which  mean  nothing  to  those  who  are 
bound  together  as  the  representatives  of  humanity 
in  this  war  against  the  German  legions  of  Hell. 
I  apologise  for  the  high-flown  language  which  I 
don't  like  to  use,  but  just  at  the  present  moment 
I  am  shocked  by  the  horrible  fate  of  the  beautiful 
Lusitania  with  her  hundreds  of  civilian  lives — 
American  lives — a  great  number  of  them,  yet 
Heaven  only  knows  what  our  Government  will 
answer. 

One  thing  only  is  sure  at  the  present  time. 
Peace  will  not  come  until  its  terms  can  be  dictated 
by  one  side  or  the  other  as  the  complete  and  over- 
whelming victor.     I  do  not  believe  Germany  can 


114        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

beat  us,  but  I  know  that  It  will  take  us  a  very 
long  time  to  beat  Germany.  England  has  not  yet 
begun  to  fight,  and  until  we  are  strong  enough  to 
take  the  main  offensive,  there  can  be  no  gain 
whatever.  Whether  we  shall  be  able  to  do  so 
at  all  this  year  is  doubtful,  but  dating  from  the 
time  when  we  are  able  to  commence,  we  have  no 
idea  that  less  than  a  full  year  will  pass  over  our 
heads  in  the  march  to  Berlin,  and  far  more  likely 
two  years.  Take  it  from  me,  all  other  thoughts 
at  this  time  are  R  O  T — the  hopes  of  fools,  pure 
and  simple. 

Think  of  me  often  at  the  corner  of  Gin-Rickey 
Alley  and  Highball  Street,  for  I  understand  that 
Lloyd  George  is  going  to  cut  off  all  our  booze 
on  this  side  for  the  period  of  the  War. 
Most  affectionately, 

H.  A.  B. 


J  General  Letter, 

Divisional  Ammunition  Column, 
Royal  Field  Artillery, 
Shoreham-by-Sea, 

9  May,  1915. 

My  Dearest  Folks, 

The  first  thing  I  found  In  Brighton  was  that  I 
could  not  go  for  my  month's  gunnery  course  until 
I  was  gazetted  from  the  War  Office  as  per- 
manently transferred  to  R.  F.  A.,  and  as  this  did 
not  come  until  May  5th,  I  have  already  had  a 
month  with  the  guns.    The  first  two  weeks  I  was 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      115 

In  Brighton,  I  billeted  at  Prince's  Hotel;  the  sec- 
ond week  at  a  little  place  called  Kingston,  four 
miles  down  the  Coast,  billeted  in  a  private  home, 
and  then  a  week  ago  we  (the  Divisional  Ammuni- 
tion Column)  together  with  two  of  the  four  artil- 
lery brigades  In  the  Division,  moved  back  here 
into  the  same  camp  that  I  was  In  with  the  War- 
wickshire Regiment. 

Here  I  have  a  little  room  In  one  of  the  officers' 
huts,  which,  with  my  field  furniture  of  folding  cot, 
table,  chair  and  workstand,  a  sea-bag  of  bedding 
and  a  suitcase  of  personal  belongings  and  clothes, 
I  have  made  very  comfortable. 

I  have  a  soldier  servant  to  look  after  my  things, 
but  I  don't  keep  him  very  busy.  I  have  a  good 
horse,  and  a  groom  at  my  beck  and  call  to  look 
out  for  him,  and  as  soon  as  I  finish  this  letter  (to- 
day being  Sunday)  I  shall  order  him  up  and  go 
for  an  hour's  gallop  over  the  beautiful  downs  that 
we  are  In  the  midst  of,  and  look  out  over  the  misty 
waters  of  the  Channel  that  points  to  the  open 
sea  and  on  which  one  might  sail  without  another 
sight  of  land,  on  the  long  course  around  Cape 
Horn  and  right  up  to  the  entrance  of  my  beloved 
Golden  Gate! 

My  regulation  horse  kit  of  saddle,  bridle  and 
other  tackle  has  not  yet  been  served  out  to  me,  so 
in  the  meantime  I  am  very  glad  to  have  my  own 
gear  that  I  brought  over  with  me. 

During  this  month  that  I  have  been  In  the 
Artillery,  I  have  been  handling  about  the  same 
number  of  men  right  along,  fifty  to  one  hundred 
twenty,  but  on  many  more  kinds  of  work  than 


ii6        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

at  first — Marching  drill,  skeleton  driving  drill 
(manoeuvres  with  the  guns  and  wagons) ,  gun  drill, 
riding,  care  of  horses  and  stables,  signalling,  rifle 
drill  and  musketry — so  you  may  see  that  I  have 
my  hands  full.  I  suppose  the  best  way  to  give 
you  the  picture  will  be  to  take  a  day  in  detail — I 
won't  inflict  It  on  you  but  once : — 

5  :oo  A.  M.     Reveille. 

6  :oo  A.  M.     /  get  up, 

6:30  I  ride  with  a  class  for  an  hour. 

8  :oo  I  breakfast. 

9:00  I  take  the  morning  parade  for 

three  hours  and  a  half,  during 
which  time  I  leave  the  men  split 
up  into  two  or  three  sections,  do- 
ing different  work. 

1 :00  P.  M.  I  lunch,  after  a  couple  of  gin-and- 
bitters  In  the  ante  room. 

2  :oo  I  take  the  afternoon  parade  for 

two  and  a  half  hours. 

4:30  I  tea. 

5  too  I  take  an  hour's  gun  drill. 

6:30  I  wash  and  dress  for  dinner,  get 

down  to  the  mess  In  time  for  a 
round  before  dinner,  and  then 
Into  dinner  at  7  :30.  This  is  the 
only  ceremonious  meal  of  the 
day  and  takes  one  hour  and  a 
half,  usually — but  I  thoroughly 
enjoy  It. 

After  dinner  I  read,  sit  around 
and  yarn,  or  play  bridge  with  the 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      117 

Colonel  of  the  109th  Brigade, 
and  a  couple  of  Majors.  Turn 
in  somewhere  between  eleven 
and  twelve  usually. 

And  all  this  time,  remember,  that  while  I  may 
be  actually  learning — nobody  is  supposed  to  know 
that.  I  am  here  to  drill  and  train  my  men  as  if 
I  knew  the  whole  damned  show.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  keep  in  pretty  close  touch  with  the  regi- 
mental sergeant-major,  an  old  horse  gunner,  with 
about  forty  campaign  medals,  who  knows  how 
most  things  should  be  done  and  never  forgets  his 
place. 

The  thing  I  want  to  point  out  in  all  this  is  that 
I  have  got  the  joke  fairly  on  Colonel  Karmany — 
although  I  know  he  will  be  pleased  as  Punch  that 
I  have.  He  used  to  point  out  the  rookies  being 
drilled  at  Mare  Island  as  we  would  walk  out 
to  the  links  of  an  afternoon,  and  tell  me  that  that 
was  what  I  was  coming  to,  and  that  I  wouldn't 
be  in  the  ranks  three  days  before  I  would  get  the 
Guard  Room  for  telling  some  Corporal  to  "go  to 
Hell" !  And  instead  of  that,  I  am  here  drilling, 
instead  of  being  drilled,  with  the  whole  weight  of 
His  Majesty's  Government  back  of  me  if  I  choose 
to  tell  all  the  Corporals  in  the  Regiment  to  ''go 
to  Hell"  seven  times  a  week !  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
I  get  along  very  well  with  the  men  and  the 
N.  C.  O.'s,  and  I  don't  think  I  have  an  enemy  in 
any  one  of  them,  nor  do  I  ever  gtt  any  back  talk 
from  any. 

I  am  afraid  though,  my  dearest  folks,  that  I 


ii8        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

won't  have  reduced  my  vocabulary  of  cuss  words 
any  when  I  get  back — I  simply  couldn't  get  the 
work  here  done  without  them — but  on  Cookie's 
account  I  have  cut  out  a  few  of  the  "great  big 
ones." 

I  cannot  venture  a  guess  as  to  when  the  24th 
Divisional  Ammunition  Column  will  get  out.  We 
have  not  yet  our  horses,  harness,  war  ammunition 
wagons;  nor  have  any  of  the  brigades  their  guns; 
but  once  we  are  equipped,  I  think  from  the  point 
we  are  at  now,  that  we  can  get  the  men  trained 
ready  to  take  the  field  inside  of  three  months.  I 
am  afraid  the  report  of  a  June  departure  for  us 
was  too  optimistic. 

I  hope  to  get  away  for  my  gunnery  course  now 
Inside  of  a  week  or  so.  It  lasts  a  month  of  very 
hard  work  and  long  hours  (5  A.M.  to  8  p.m.) 
and  takes  In  all  the  practical  gunnery  of  a  full 
three  years'  military  course. 

Following  that,  I  may  have  a  two  weeks'  slg- 
naUing  course  and  after  that  a  two  weeks'  course 
of  observation  at  the  front — this  consists  of 
observation  In  the  trenches,  from  concealed  posts; 
charge  of  telephonic  communications  and  prob- 
ably four  or  five  days  near  a  couple  of  guns  In 
action.  When  I  return  from  that  I  will  be,  ac- 
cording to  the  speed  that  I  have  worked  during 
my  three  months  of  training,  and  according  to 
how  the  standards  of  the  present  day  go — a 
bang-up  gunner,  competent  to  take  the  full  com- 
mand of  a  section  of  two  eighteen  pounder  Q.  F. 
guns  and  fifty  horses  and  men. 

And  when  I  am  that,  trust  Habs  to  get  per- 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      119 

manently  to  the  front  In  the  quickest  time  and 
on  the  first  job  allowed! 

And  now  I  want  to  tell  you,  my  dearest  folks, 
that  as  each  day  flies  over  my  head,  I  feel  more 
and  more  sure  that  I  have  found  the  right  work 
for  myself  out  of  all  the  jobs  the  world  has  to 
offer.  I  wasn't  satisfied  In  the  Infantry,  but  here 
with  the  horses  and  guns,  I  feel  myself  among 
the  things  I  was  born  for.  Artillery  is  to-day 
the  most  Important  arm  of  the  service,  and  that 
Is  the  one  for  me  to  be  on.  I  would  not  ex- 
change right  now  for  either  the  Cavalry  or  the 
Flying  Corps,  nor,  much  as  I  love  the  sea,  would 
I  shift  to  the  Navy — for  I  have  found  the  place 
where  I  belong  In  the  Royal  Regiment  of  Artillery. 
And  when  I  say  *Uhe  place  where  I  belong^*  IVe 
said  all  there  Is  to  say. 

This  Is  all  I  am  able  to  tell  you  of  the  work  I 
am  doing  and  my  Immediate  prospects  ahead  as 
viewed  from  this  day  of  grace,  May  9th,  19 15. 
But  the  present  Is  good  and  the  future  looks 
better.  i 

Just  at  this  minute,  and  for  the  last  two  days, 
I  have  been  shocked  (there  Is  no  other  word  for 
It)  over  the  terrible  end  of  the  Lusitania  with  hen 
one  hundred  and  more  American  lives,  and  I  watch 
keenly  for  the  news  of  what  answer  our  Govern- 
ment will  make.  It  will  be  a  great  shame  on  our 
country  If  It  Is  passed  over. 

I  didn't  really  hate  the  Germans  when  I  came 
over  here — but  I  am  beginning  to  believe  that  all 
the  good  has  gone  out  of  them,  and  I  know  that 
before  the  long  war  is  over,  we  of  the  allied 


I20        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

troops,  and  particularly  the  British,  will  be  called 
upon  to  face  more  frightful  and  barbarous 
weapons  than  savage  warfare  has  ever  conceived 
of.  The  torture-gas  of  Ypres  is  only  the  be- 
ginning of  It.  The  road  to  Berlin  lies  not  across 
Europe,  but  across  particular  Hell! 

Affectionately, 

Habs. 
P.S.— 

On  reading  over  this  letter,  I  find  that  parts 
of  It  contain  an  objectionably  bombastic  tone. 
Please  excuse  this  on  grounds  of  over-enthusiasm. 


To  Lucile, 

School  of  Instruction, 
R.  H.  &  R.  F.  A., 

Lark  Hill, 
Salisbury, 
24  May,  1915. 

Dearest  Gookie, 

As  you  may  see,  I  have  only  had  to  wait  nine- 
teen days  from  the  date  of  my  transfer  to  R.  F.  A., 
before  I  am  here  to  begin  my  month's  gunnery 
course. 

I  have  just  come  down  from  Stow,  where  I 
have  been  spending  three  days'  leave  with  Jack 
(the  first  since  I  joined)  and  having  a  most  en- 
joyable time  In  "my  English  home." 

Subalterns  are  arriving  every  minute  and  the 
course  promises  to  be  the  hardest  work  and  the 
most  interesting  that  I  have  ever  done.  We  are 
In  the  middle  of  Salisbury  Plain,  which  is  now 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       121 

covered  from  end  to  end  with  encampments,  I 
suppose  comprising  about  a  million  and  a  half  of 
men,  and  thousands  of  guns  and  aeroplanes. 

Best  love, 

Habs. 


A  General  Letter, 

School  of  Instruction, 
R.  H.  &  R.  F.  A., 

Lark  Hill,  Salisbury, 

29    May,    191 5. 

My  Dearest  Folks, 

On  the  5th  of  May,  PauFs  birthday,  (his 
brother,  Paulding)  as  I  think  I  told  you,  my  name 
appeared  in  the  Gazette  as  newly  commissioned  in 
the  Royal  Regiment  of  Artillery,  and  on  the  20th 
I  received  orders  to  report  on  last  Tuesday  (the 
24th)  to  the  above  address  for  a  course  of  gun- 
nery on  the  eighteen  pounder,  quick-firing  field  gun 
— the  gun  with  which  we  are  equipped.  I  imme- 
diately applied  for,  and  was  granted,  four  days' 
leave  in  the  meanwhile. 

Salisbury  Plain,  badly  named,  as  it  contains 
beautiful  rolling  country  with  plenty  of  prominent 
hills,  13  about  forty-five  miles  long  by  twenty  wide. 
It  IS  chalk  country  throughout,  six  inches  below 
the  surface  of  the  ground.  The  turf  Is  very  good 
all  over,  but  trees  are  (for  England)  few  and 
far  between. 

At  present.  It  Is  the  great  training  camp  of 
England,  huge  clusters  of  grey  iron  huts  being 
scattered  all  over  it,     There  are  quartered  here. 


122        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

roughly,  a  million  and  a  half  of  men,  who  all  day 
long  are  carrying  out  training  manoeuvres  all  over 
the  face  of  It — while  there  Is  usually  a  minimum 
of  half  a  dozen  aeroplanes  In  the  sky.  It  is  a 
windy  country. 

The  School  of  Gunnery  occupies  a  tiny  camp 
on  the  top  of  Lark  Hill  where  we  have  two  large 
messes,  about  ten  huts,  four  lecture  huts  and  an 
encampment  of  tents.  There  are  about  a  hundred 
and  fifty  subalterns  here  for  the  month's  course 
— a  new  course  of  from  twenty  to  thirty  starting 
each  week  and  the  seniors  passing  out. 

As  I  arrived  on  time,  I  share  a  big  room  in  a 
warm  hut  with  another  man — a  very  decent  young 
sea-going  chap,  who  knows  the  Pacific  Coast.  The 
mess  is  very  good,  but  crowded. 

And  now  for  the  course — to  quote  the  words  of 
the  Commandant  in  an  hour's  talk  on  the  opening 
morning — ^'Gentlemen,  we  have  just  thirty  days 
in  which  to  take  you  and  make  soldiers  of  you. 
Most  of  you  have  been  heretofore  in  civilian  life, 
and  in  your  training  for  service  you  are  denied 
the  two  years'  course  at  the  Royal  Military  Col- 
lege which  forms  the  first  part  of  the  prepara- 
tion of  an  officer  of  the  regular  Army.  {JVe  are 
Kitchener's  Army) .  Gentlemen,  in  the  short  time 
that  we  have  you  here,  we  intend  to  put  you 
through  all  the  training,  from  an  artillery  stand- 
point, that  you  would  get  in  that  three  years' 
course.  You  will  also  become  fully  conversant 
with  the  usages  of  military  etiquette  as  distinct 
from  the  ordinary  good  manners  of  a  gentleman 
In  civilian  life." 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       123 

Now  whether  all  these  glittering  promises  will 
be  fulfilled  to  every  man  in  the  course,  I  do  not 
know  (personally  I  am  frankly  out  to  make  a 
record) ,  but  I  must  say  that  our  instructors  have 
started  out  with  the  spirit  calculated  to  succeed. 
For,  from  the  opening  day,  I  have  not  averaged 
(outside  of  meals  and  actual  time  asleep  not  m 
bed)  one  hour  a  day  to  myself,  and  this  has  been 
split  up  into  about  four  different  periods. 

From  6 145  in  the  morning  we  are  on  parade 
until  6 145  in  the  evening,  with  two  nights  a  week 
out  entrenching  guns.  There  are  two  breaks  in 
the  day  of  an  hour  and  a  half  each  (lunch  and 
tea)  and  one  in  the  morning  of  half  an  hour; 
but  to  date,  I  have  not  used  ten  minutes  of  any 
one  of  these,  and  not  more  than  half  an  hour  of 
the  evening  for  the  pursuit  of  vain  pleasures. 

No,  sir — as  soon  as  ever  I  get  up  from  table, 
I  find  myself  automatically  steering  for  this  desk 
to  copy  out  a  bunch  of  notes,  or  to  the  first  un- 
occupied chair  to  study  a  piece  of  ^'section  gun 
drill"  (eight  pages  fine  print  to  learn  by  heart) 
or  ''breech  mechanism"  or  "right  ranging  with  per- 
cussion shrapnel"  or  ^'coming  Into  action  on  a 
side  slope"  or  the  use  of  the  time  fuse  with  high 
explosive  lyddite  shells  or  some  other  interesting 
subject  Intimately  connected  in  one  way  or  another 
with  making  good  Germans  out  of  live  ones. 

Yesterday  I  was  ranging  over  the  country  with 
the  rest  of  my  course  In  the  intricacies  of  battery 
drill  (mounted  without  the  carriages)  when  I 
came  slap  bang!  upon  the  oldest  ruins  In  England 
— Stonehenge,  of  which  I  have  heard  all  my  life. 


124        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

This  morning  I  have  been  for  four  hours  ob- 
serving the  fire  of  a  gun  battery  of  eighteen  pound- 
ers, ranging  up  to  six  thousand  yards  under  direct 
control  of  three  aeroplane  observers.  Rather  a 
contrast,  eh?  And  since  it  is  the  first  time  that  I 
have,  myself,  heard  the  sound,  it  v/ere  as  well  to 
give  you  here  just  a  word  on  the  impression  con- 
veyed by  gun  fire.  (Colonel  Karmany,  please 
skip ! ) 

The  actual  report  of  the  gun,  although  a  very 
beautiful  flash,  and  quite  surprising  the  first  time 
you  hear  it,  at  close  range,  pales  into  insignificance 
beside  the  sound  of  the  passage  of  the  projectile 
which  immediately  follows  it.  For  the  far-famed 
scream  of  the  shell — I  can  assure  you,  has  never 
been  over-rated.  It  is  the  finest  sound  that  mine 
ears  have  ever  listened  to,  and  gives  the  greatest 
impression  of  mighty  power  that  you  can  pos- 
sibly conceive.  Its  note  is  pitched  in  a  higher  key 
than  the  scale  of  music  runs  up  to. 

So,  fondest,  fondest  love,  and  nothing  else  will 
reach  you  during  the  intervening  week. 

From 

Habs. 


To  Lucile. 


Beaumont  College, 
Old  Windsor, 
20  June,  1915. 


Dearest  Gookie, 

The  gunnery  course  is  finished  and  here  I  am 
up  at  Beaumont  for  a  week-end  with  Father  Tim. 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       125 

My  Captain  instructor  was  kind  enough  to  tell 
me  that  I  had  made  a  complete  success  of  the 
course  and  I,  myself,  feel  that  I  am  beginning  to 
master  the  gunner's  job.  I  could  probably  put  in 
another  month's  practice  to  advantage,  but  I  do 
not  think  more,  and  I  could, go  out  without  fear  of 
bemg  incapable  any  day  now. 

The  Division  has  moved  to  Aldershot,  where  I 
rejoin  to-morrow,  and  the  next  thing  on  my  list  is 
another  heart  to  heart  with  my  Major  Potter 
and  a  transfer  out  of  the  Ammunition  Column  into 
a  Battery — for  I  want  the  command  of  my  own 
guns  when  I  go  out. 

I  am  staying  in  town  with  Mrs.  O'Sullivan  to- 
night and  calling  on  the  Dickens,  who  are  great 
friends  of  hers.      (He  is  an  old  Beaumont  boy.) 

Last  Saturday  we  dined  with  Professor  and 
Mrs.  Gayley  (of  the  University  of  California) 
at  Morley's.     They  have  been  over  for  a  year. 

The  luncheon  bell  is  ringing  and  I  must  run. 
Father  Tim  sends  his  best.  I'm  awfully  glad  you 
wrote  to  my  Major. 

Devotedly,  dearest — 

Habs. 


To  Lucile  and  David, 

New  Copse  Farm, 
Salisbury  Plain, 

25  July,  1915- 

Dearest  Gookie  and  Dave, 

The     excitement     has     started.       The     24th 
Divisional  Artillery  has  come  up  for  its  practice 


126        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

firing — 600  rounds  for  seventy-two  guns,  and  I 
was  picked  for  the  range  party  of  three  officers, 
thirty  men  and  horses.  Also,  I  have  been  told 
unofficially,  that  I  am  to  have  my  transfer  to  one 
of  the  brigades  after  we  have  fired  the  course. 
The  supposition  is  that  we  will  go  out  very  soon 
afterwards,  but  to  which  of  the  two  fronts,  no- 
body knows. 

The  Divisional  Ammunition  Column  which  I 
am  in  at  present,  will  not  go  out,  nor  Is  It  up 
for  the  firing.  Each  brigade  (four  batteries  of 
four  guns  and  eight  wagons,  each)  has  Its  own 
Brigade  Ammunition  Column  of  sixteen  wagons, 
which  supplies  the  ammunition  to  the  second  row 
of  wagons  (called  *'first  line  wagons")  about  a 
mile  In  rear  of  the  guns  In  action. 

Our  job  here  (the  range  party)  Is  to  place  all 
the  targets  and  observe  the  firing  from  the  vari- 
ous "dugouts"  and  "splinter-proofs" — a  couple 
of  hundred  yards  away,  and  to  patrol  the  range. 
This  latter  Is  my  particular  job,  for  which  I  have 
charge  of  eight  mounted  men  called  "vedettes" 
and  an  N.  C.  O. 

The  range  Is  roughly  five  miles  long  by  two 
and  a  half  wide,  with  a  perimeter  of  about  four- 
teen inches.  Along  this  there  are  eight  flagstaffs. 
The  vedettes  gallop  away  from  here  at  7  130  In 
the  morning  and  each  proceeds  direct  to  the  flag 
staff  which  has  been  allotted  to  him,  where  he 
hoists  a  red  flag  and  patrols  a  mile  or  so  In  either 
direction  throughout  the  day  to  prevent  any  one 
from  entering  the  danger  zone.  I  make  about  a 
half  of  the  round  each  day  to  see  that  they  are 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       127 

on  the  job,  and  spend  the  remainder  of  the  time 
observing  from  the  firing  batteries,  or  close  up 
In  the  '^splinter-proofs." 

I  have  two  very  good  fast  chargers  and  I  just 
about  tire  both  of  them  out  every  day,  as  all 
my  work  Is  at  a  fast  gallop  across  this  glorious 
green  rolling  country. 

I  am  in  close  touch  with  the  R.  A.  Staff  (Gen- 
eral, Brigade  Major  and  Staff  Captain)  all  the 
time,  so  if  I  can't  manage  to  bring  myself  to  their 
attention  during  the  two  weeks  we  are  here,  suffi- 
ciently to  make  them  realize  that  I  am  quite  in- 
dispensable to  the  Division — it  will  be  because 
they  are  wooden-headed  entirely.  As  they  are  an 
awfully  decent  lot,  I  regard  this  as  unlikely. 

I  got  on  the  good  side  of  the  aged  couple  who 
Inhabit  this  little  farm  house,  as  soon  as  we  ar- 
rived, and  persuaded  the  old  girl  to  undertake  our 
cooking.  We  draw  our  rations,  buy  what  extra 
we  need  in  the  neighboring  village  of  Tilshead, 
and  in  consequence  I  have  got  a  very  decent  little 
mess  running,  where — with  the  aid  of  a  barrel  of 
home-brewed  beer  on  draught — we  can  make  our 
noble  commander,  who  goes  by  the  name  of 
Brigadier  General  Sir  .  .  .  ,  Bart,  C.B.,  D.S.O., 
quite  comfortable  when  (?)  he  drops  in  for  his 
little  afternoon  calls.  (If  you  find  my  humor 
getting  ponderous,  don't  hesitate  to  cable.) 

The  weather  has  been  very  wet  for  the  last 
month.  In  Camberley  it  was  particularly  hard 
on  the  horses  In  the  open,  and  on  the  men  under 
canvas.  My  own  tent  was  quite  comfortable. 
Here  it  promises  continual  rain  also,  but  we  are 


128         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

all  in  warm  dry  quarters.  I  can  keep  fairly  dry 
riding  in  the  heaviest  rain  In  a  big  riding  mackin- 
tosh, unless  I  have  to  dismount  too  often. 

The  trek  up  from  Camberley  was  bad.  We  left 
at  2  130  p.  M.  in  the  midst  of  a  pouring  rain  and 
did  six  miles  to  Farnborough  station  where  we 
entrained.  It  was  the  first  time  the  men  had  ever 
loaded  horses  and  wagons  and  I  was  pretty  busy 
for  about  an  hour.  Two  horses  were  brought  us 
to  Amesbury  where  we  disentralned,  hooked  up 
and  started  aAvay  at  7  :30  to  find  No.  7  Camp, 
Hamilton  Lines,  the  approximate  position  and 
direction  of  which  we  knew — but  no  more.  For- 
tunately, it  was  not  far  from  Lark  Hill  where  I 
had  been  on  my  gunnery  course,  so  I  finally  found 
it  and  halted  the  little  party  for  the  night  at 
9 130.  Got  them  unloaded  and  outspanned  for 
the  night,  watered,  fed  and  picketed,  and  the 
men  into  their  huts  carrying  their  own  grub — 
while  my  servant  was  setting  up  my  gear  in  a 
spare  hut,  and  finally  made  for  the  Officers'  Mess 
myself  at  ten  minutes  to  eleven,  where — glory 
be — I  found  a  hot  dinner  and  something  to  drink 
awaiting  me. 

Next  day  we  came  on  here  (another  six  miles) . 
I  dropped  behind  with  one  wagon  and  team  of  six 
to  dray/  to-day's  rations  for  the  men,  and  forage 
for  the  horses  at  the  Army  Service  Supply  Depot, 
where  everything  was  upside  down  and  drowned 
out.  I  finally  got  away  from  there  at  half  past 
one,  and  out  here  at  3  130  to  find  the  rest  of  the 
party  settled.  I  enjoyed  the  real  luxury  of  lunch 
out  of  my  saddle  bags  on  the  way. 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      129 

Half  an  hour  later  the  Brigade  Major  showed 
up,  and  we  rode  on  range  with  him  for  three 
hours  more. 

To-morrow  the  firing  starts  and  I  must  get 
to  bed. 

Fondest  love  to  each  and  every  one  of  you  from 

Habs. 


IV 

ARRIVAL  IN  FRANCE 

To  Lucile  and  David, 

France,  ist  of  September,  1915. 

Dearest  Dave  and  Gookie, 

The  last  three  weeks  have  fled  so  fast  and  have 
been  so  full  that  I  have  been  guilty  of  the  longest 
lapse  in  writing  since  I  left,  and  I  hope  also  the 
longest  until  the  "revoir." 

I  sent  a  long  "general"  from  Mrs.  O'Sullivan's 
about  a  month  ago,  but  am  afraid  it  may  have 
gone  down  on  the  Arabic.  If  it  did  you  didn't 
miss  much — for  it  was  entirely  impersonal  and 
contained  only  general  information. 

To  take  up  the  tale  from  the  end  of  our  series, 
immediately  upon  return  to  Drycut,  I  was  trans- 
ferred to  the  107th  Brigade  where  I  was  posted 
to  the  Ammunition  Column.  The  two  weeks  fol- 
lowing were  all  preparation  for  departure.  I  got 
away  for  three  days  to  Newport  Castle  with 
Tommy  and  the  Evans — the  first  time  Tommy 
and  I  had  been  together  in  five  months,  and  we 
had  a  bully  time  and  talked  ourselves  out. 

The  day  of  my  return  from  there  I  was  taken 
out  of  the  D.  A.  C.  and  posted  to  D  Battery  as 

130 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       131 

right  section  commander,  where  I  hold  sway  over 
two  guns,  4  wagons,  50  horses,  and  70  men.  Two 
days  after  that,  we  left  for  France  where  we  ar- 
rived yesterday  after  an  uneventful  passage.  We 
are  now  entrained  and  en  route  from  *'some- 
where"  to  "somewhere  else,"  which  is  all  these 
damned  regulations  allow  an  officer  of  His 
Majesty's  Army  to  communicate. 

I  expect  we  shall  go  into  camp  and  train 
for  several  weeks  more,  but  with  ordinary  luck 
we  should  move  up  to  take  our  place  in  the  firing 
line  soon  after  you  receive  this. 

I  have  written  Tommy  to  cable  you  this  in- 
formation at  once  on  account  of  no  letter  being 
even  on  the  way  at  present. 

I  realise  that  it  will  be  a  little  shock  to  find 
me  really  on  active  service;  but  on  the  other  hand, 
I  count  on  the  first  letter  I  am  able  to  send  you 
after  we  take  our  place,  to  have  a  most  soothing 
effect;  the  "great  unknown"  which  we  always 
dread  will  have  become  the  known — the  everyday 
- — the  commonplace — to  me. 

The  Colt  automatic  which  you  and  Davy  and 
Bill  ordered,  arrived  and  is  admired  as  the  best 
weapon  in  the  Brigade.  I  love  to  think  of  you 
when  I  handle  (or  rather  "fondle")  it. 

We  are  stopping  for  tea  just  by  way  of  a  re- 
minder that  we  are  not  in  the  war  yet — but  it 
means  I  must  leave  this. 

Au  revoir — my  dearest,  for  a  few  days.  I  am 
very  happy,  but  as  Gus  would  say — ^my  attitude  is 
"strictly  business." 

Saw  Major  Potter  this  morning,  who  congratu- 


132         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

lated  me  on  my  promotion  to  the  Battery.  He 
is  a  dear  and  you  must  both  meet  him,  when  you 
come  over  to  witness  the  triumphant  return  of 
our  armies  in  191 — ? 

Fondest,  fondest  love 

From 

Habs. 

To  Lucile. 

France,  8th  of  September. 

Dearest  Gookie  : 

A  week  ago  at  the  end  of  our  train  journey  en 
route  on  which  I  wrote  you  and  Davy,  we  went 
into  camp  about  five  miles  away  with  the  rest  of 
the  brigade, — officers  and  men  in  billets — guns, 
wagons  and  horses  parked  in  a  beautiful  glade  of 
Normandy  poplars  alongside  a  little  river.  It 
was  one  of  the  most  ideal  spots  you  can  imagine 
In  the  sunshine — only  that  night  it  came  on  to 
rain  and  oh,  what  a  difference  in  the  morning! 

It  is  a  chalk  country,  and  with  the  least  rain — 
the  horses'  tramping  turns  the  whole  topsoil  into 
a  sticky  mud.  The  horses  were  standing  more 
than  fetlock  deep  in  it — and  hock  deep  in  some 
of  the  worst  spots — and  they  stood  so  during  an- 
other whole  twenty-four  hours'  downpour,  so  that 
on  the  morning  of  the  next  day  things  were  in  a 
really  sad  state — when  there  came  an  alarm 
parade  to  get  hooked  up  and  packed  and  away 
out  on  the  road  as  quickly  as  possible. 

It  took  over  two  hours  to  get  the  whole  brigade 
out — then  we  were  ordered  to  come  into  action  on 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       133 

top  of  a  hill  about  300  feet  high.  It  was  steep, 
and  the  ground  soft,  wet,  stubble — and  with  the 
horses  all  In  from  their  two  days'  standing  In  mud 
and  being  rained  on,  we  had  a  lovely  time.  The 
whole  brigade  rapidly  got  stuck  in  different  pos- 
tures all  over  the  hillside. 

I  was  battery  leader  for  the  day  and  by  hook- 
ing In  extra  centers  and  leaders  to  make  ten  in 
a  team,  and  putting  all  the  gunners  with  drag  ropes 
onto  one  carriage  at  a  time,  I  managed  to  get 
three  of  my  four  guns  Into  action  just  below  the 
crest.    One  other  battery  did  the  same. 

We  did  not  return  to  the  same  gun  park,  but 
to  another  just  like  it,  and  as  the  weather  cleared 
Immediately  afterwards,  vv^e  have  been  most  com- 
fortably (and  artistically)  encamped  there  ever 
since.  Most  of  the  time  has  been  taken  up  with 
harness  cleaning,  exercise,  washing,  a  little  drill, 
etc.,  but  yesterday  we  were  out  for  a  hell  of  a  big 
field  day — over  a  division  engaged. 

Almost  immediately  now  we  move  up  for  a 
few  days'  practice  in  some  safely  held  part  of 
the  firing  line,  and  shortly  after  we  return  from 
that  we  will  go  forward  and  take  up  our  per- 
manent part  of  the  line. 

So  I  shall  be  in  action  and  out  of  it  again  by 
the  time  you  read  this.  Isn't  it  glorious,  my 
dearest? 

Fondest  love,  from 

Habs. 


134        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 
A  General  Letter, 

France,   14   September,   1915. 

Dearest  Folks, 

My  last  letter  (to  Dave  and  Gookie)  told  of 
our  proposed  start  for  a  practice  in  the  firing  line 
— then  some  further  training  before  taking  up 
our  permanent  position.  This  schedule  has  since 
been  altered,  and  In  consequence,  I  am  starting 
this  letter  by  the  light  of  a  candle  in  the  quarter 
of  an  hour  before  our  evening  meal — deep  down 
in  the  cellar  of  a  partially  ruined  house  about  a 
hundred  yards  from  our  guns  in  action.  Tres 
pittoresque,  eh? 

The  way  of  it  was  thus:  Two  days  after  I 
wrote  last,  one  half  of  our  brigade  was  attached 
to  one  half  of  the  4.5  Inch  howitzer  brigade  under 
their  commander — and  vice  versa — and  off  we 
started  In  different  directions.  In  column  of  route. 

We — "D"  Battery — brought  up  the  rear  of  our 
party  (with  the  exception  of  the  Ammunition 
Column  detachments).  The  first  day  we  covered 
twenty-two  miles  and  stopped  the  night  In  a  de- 
cent little  village.  Officers  billeted  In  a  farm 
house — which  we  were  particularly  grateful  for, 
as  we  had  lost  our  wagon  with  all  our  baggage  on 
It,  detached  by  order  of  the  staff  Captain  early  In 
the  march  for  overloading — so  that  we  only  had 
saddle  bag  kit  (toilet  articles)  with  us.  The  sec- 
ond day  we  halted  at  2  P.  M.^  and  enjoyed  the 
same  comforts  at  another  village — and  the  third 
night  we   reached  the  point  where  we  were  to 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       135 

establish  our  permanent  wagon  lines — about  seven 
miles  in  rear  of  the  firing  line — where  (D.  G.) 
our  kits  caught  up  with  us. 

The  march  was  a  little  tiresome — averaging 
about  eight  hours  a  day  on  the  road,  watering  and 
feeding  one  hundred  and  thirty  horses  and  men  a 
couple  of  times — not  to  mention  an  early  reveille 
every  morning,  two  hours  "stables"  (grooming, 
watering,  feeding,  etc.)  and  the  same  extending 
well  into  the  evening  at  the  end  of  the  day's  work. 

Next  Morning. 

On  the  morning  of  the  12th  of  September  we 
mounted  all  our  gunners  (52)  most  of  the  N.  C. 
O.'s,  and  rode  up  to  the  position  we  were  to  take 
up.  Dismounted  under  cover  of  houses  half  a  mile 
in  rear  and  marched  up  in  small  parties. 

The  four  gun-pits  which  we  were  to  occupy  had 
been  about  half  completed  for  us  by  another  bat- 
tery, so  that  only  a  couple  of  days'  work  by  our 
own  men  was  needed  to  finish  them.  The  Captain 
remained  with  my  two  brother  subalterns, 
Humphrey  and  Baxter,  and  all  of  the  crew,  and 
I  returned  with  the  led  horses  and  extra  drivers  to 
the  wagon  line.  All  afternoon  I  spent  in  setting 
the  sights  (five  to  each  gun — a  rather  complicated 
job)  and  at  5:30  in  the  evening,  with  only  one 
corporal  and  the  Quartermaster  Sergeant  as  out- 
riders, I  left  with  the  firing  battery  ( four  guns  and 
four  ammunition  wagons)  to  bring  them  up  into 
action. 

The  traffic  was  heavy  and  the  way  rather  round- 


136        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

about,  so  that  what  with  stopping  to  water  en 
route,  I  just  reached  the  halting  place  a  little  be- 
fore eight  o'clock,  the  hour  at  which  it  becomes 
dark  enough  to  go  forward  with  vehicles,  free 
from  the  fears  of  observation  by  the  enemy. 
Moved  up  the  last  half  mile  at  500  yard  intervals 
between  vehicles  and  halted  the  battery  in  rear 
of  the  pits  at  8:15,  where  I  handed  it  over  to  the 
others  to  run  the  guns  into  the  pits  and  unload 
the  ammunition,  while  I  ripped  Into  the  galley  and 
stowed  away  a  good  dinner. 

Left  with  the  four  gun  limbers  and  empty 
wagons  at  9  130,  and  after  getting  into  the  back 
yard  of  another  battery  in  action,  where  I  had  to 
reverse  the  eight  six-horse-teams  in  thirty  feet  of 
room — and  going  a  very  long  way  round  to  avoid 
the  frightfully  heavy  traffic,  I  pulled  Into  the 
wagon  lines  at  1 145  in  the  morning,  completing  a 
nine  hours'  jaunt  for  the  horses  and  drivers  with- 
out food.  Fed  both  at  once,  issued  orders  for 
reveille  at  8:30  (luxury)  and  turned  in  under  the 
stars. 

Next  day  I  spent  very  busily  in  Installing  the 
wagon  lines  on  a  permanent  basis — solid,  well  set 
up,  picketing  lines  for  the  horses — harness  racks, 
properly  lined  in  rear — wagons  parked  in  column 
of  route  under  a  hedge  ready  to  hook  in  and  move 
off  at  a  moment's  notice — men's  bivouacs  lined 
along  another  hedge — Quartermaster's  stores  cov- 
ered over — two  kitchens  for  officers  and  men — 
officers'  bivouac,  etc.,  etc.  All  ship-shape  and 
Bristol  fashion — you  know  what  I  mean. 

Late  in  the  p.  m.  the  D.  A.  C.  sent  me  up  four 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       137 

hundred  rounds  of  ammunition  which  I  trans- 
ferred to  our  empty  wagons  and  limbers,  and  at 
5  130  I  packed  my  saddle  bags,  had  tea,  ordered 
my  horse  and  groom  and  rode  up  here  to  the  bat- 
tery to  relieve  Baxter — who  returned  on  my 
horse. 


And  now  a  few  words  in  regard  to  conditions 
In  the  firing  line  and  the  general  atmosphere  in 
which  we  live,  now  that  we  have  taken  our  place. 
I  have  told  you  that  our  wagon  lines  are  far  in 
rear — this  Is  the  case  throughout  this  district. 
From  about  half  a  mile  in  rear  of  the  guns,  right 
back  for  another  ten  through  the  country,  is  a 
maze  of  telephone  wires — roads  all  under  mili- 
tary control  with  regular  traffic  regulations  and 
dispatching  points — depots,  offices  and  headquar- 
ters of  a  thousand  different  kinds,  batteries  of 
artillery  and  battalions  of  Infantry  resting — ambu- 
lance stations,  travelling  work  shops  and  flying 
corps  depots — and  Heaven  knows  what  else ! 

As  far  back  as  ten  miles  the  sound  of  the  guns 
Is  distinctly  heard — always  there  are  three  or  four 
aeroplanes  up  (mostly  our  own  at  present)  one 
of  w^hich  at  least  is  being  fired  at,  though  I 
haven't  seen  a  burst  within  a  half  a  mile  of  one 
yet — and  away  In  two  curving  lines  many  miles 
apart,  stretches  the  long  line  of  observation 
balloons — our  own  and  the  enemy's. 

Although  the  whole  of  this  district  has  been 
fought  over — as  shown  by  the  miles  of  trenches 
and  entanglements  you  come  through — you  do  not 


138        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

notice  that  the  landscape  is  particularly  crippled 
until  you  get  up  to  within  about  half  a  mile  of 
the  guns,  where  the  hostile  artillery  has  gotten 
In  Its  work — but  at  this  point  begins  all  the 
thorough  desolation  of  war. 

The  village  just  on  the  enemy's  side  of  which 
our  guns  are  In  action,  spreads  over  about  one 
hundred  acres,  fairly  thickly  dotted  with  houses, 
and  of  these,  not  a  single  one  Is  untouched  by 
shell,  while  most  of  them  are  knocked  all  to  pieces. 

There  are  a  number  of  other  batteries  in  ac- 
tion close  to  us  here — a  couple  of  them  have  been 
shooting  over  us  from  less  than  four  hundred 
yards  away  for  the  last  hour,  while  two  very  noisy 
aeroplanes  have  been  circling  slowly  round,  very 
low  overhead,  observing  their  fire  for  them.  Both 
machines  have  been  shot  at  a  dozen  times,  but  as 
It  doesn't  seem  to  bother  them — I  don't  let  It 
bother  me.  So  much  for  our  own  side  of  the  line, 
looking  back. 

As  we  look  forward,  the  first  thing  In  front  of 
the  guns  Is  a  very  picturesque  collection  of  about 
twenty  French  soldiers'  graves,  marked  by  little 
wooden  crosses.  The  next  thing  Is  a  hedge  a 
couple  of  hundred  yards  away,  which  just  screens 
us  nicely  from  the  eye  of  the  enemy  on  the 
ground — and  also  blocks  our  own  view  of  any- 
thing beyond.  For  two  thousand  yards  more, 
through  several  lines  of  reserve  trenches  with 
communication  trenches  leading  up  and  through 
them,  the  country  is  ours  up  to  the  first  line  of 
fighting  trenches — and  opposite  them  less  than 
one  hundred  yards  away  are  the  enemy.     As  to 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      139 

who  owns  that  thin  strip  of  one  hundred  yards, 
there  seems  to  be  some  doubt  and  a  good  deal 
of  argument.  The  only  thing  that  looms  up 
prominently  over  there  Is  a  steel  structure  of  twin 
towers,  for  all  the  world  like  London  Bridge 
(which  is  what  the  Tommies  call  it)  which  Is  the 
main  German  observation  station. 

Now  for  ourselves : — The  guns  are  In  action  In 
four  pits  about  two  feet  deep.  The  sides  are 
built  up  to  a  height  of  six  feet  with  heavy  timber 
stanchions  which  support  a  roof  of  iio-lb.  rails. 
On  top  of  the  rails  and  all  around  the  sides — 
front  and  rear — leaving  only  sufficient  aperture 
to  take  a  sight  to  the  rear,  and  get  whatever 
switch  angle  Is  needed  to  fire  through  In  front — 
are  piled  layers  of  sandbags  and  earth  two  feet 
deep  and  constantly  growing  thicker  as  we  work. 
Then,  running  out  of  the  side  of  each  pit  is  a 
covered  trench  leading  to  the  deep  dugout  which 

we  attempt  to  make  proof  against  the  15  P 

high  explosives  of  the  Germans — commonly 
known  as  "pip-squeaks." 

In  addition  there  are  two  telephone  dugouts. 
The  telephone,  by  the  way.  Is  the  whole  show  In 
this  work — we  ourselves  have  over  fifteen  lines 
out  to  the  different  headquarters,  observing  sta- 
tions, forward  trenches,  etc.  These  are  constantly 
getting  cut  and  broken  and  are  the  trial  of  our 
lives,  but  we  should  be  quite  helpless  without 
them. 

The  inside  of  the  pits  and  dugouts  Is  quickly 
becoming  most  complex  and  luxurious.  In  the 
centre  Is  the  shining  green  gun  and  carriage,  tak- 


I40        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

Ing  up  most  of  the  room — stacked  in  recesses  in 
the  walls  are  round  upon  round  of  ammunition, 
and  against  the  walls  are  the  men's  bedding  or 
clothes  in  orderly  piles.  Buckets  of  water  for 
laying  the  dust  and  washing,  complete  the  equip- 
ment, but  the  real  note  of  the  picture  Is  the  six 
brave  boys  of  the  gun  crew  disposed  In  various 
attitudes  of  ease  and  comfort,  chatting,  smoking, 
speculating  on  the  Issues  of  the  day  or  perhaps 
listening  to  the  wise  doctrine  of  some  older  No. 
I — teUing  them  the  rules  for  keeping  a  whole  skin 
themselves  and  still  working  the  guns  when  the 
enemy's  shells  commence  to  fall. 

We — the  officers — are  very  comfortable  In  our 
cellar.  One  room  the  Captain  and  telephonist 
share — the  other,  the  two  subalterns  sleep  In  one 
end  of,  and  all  mess  In  the  other  end. 

(In  one  of  the  neighbouring  pits  established 
some  months  ago,  they  have  running  water,  elec- 
tric light  and,  as  I  live — a  Piano !  Rescued  from 
the  ruins.) 

I  have  my  comfortable  bed  on  a  thick  layer  of 
sacks  In  my  corner  and  my  stuff  laid  out  on  a  little 
bench  alongside  with  plenty  of  candles  to  dispel 
the  gloom.  Upstairs  is  one  room  for  the  men's 
tools  and  another  for  our  three  servants  and 
cook,  where  they  get  us  up  very  good  meals. 
Nothing  could  be  lovelier  as  long  as  things  remain 
quiet — which  they  won't  for  long. 

All  the  batteries  In  our  neighborhood  are  fir- 
ing constantly  and  It  Isn't  in  the  nature  of  things 
that  the  Germans  won't  reply.  At  night  they  send 
over  a  good  many  star  shells  and  a  few  Jack 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       141 

Johnsons  (8"  H.  E.)  to  right  and  left  of  us,  but 
that  Is  all  so  far.  We,  ourselves,  opened  fire  at 
1 :2  6  yesterday  and  got  over  four  guns  onto  the 
zero  register  of  our  *'zone,"  and  now  we  are  wait- 
ing for  one  of  the  planes  to  finish  with  the  battery 
It's  observing  for  at  present — to  continue  our  fir- 
ing and  register  the  rest  of  the  points  In  our  zone 
under  Its  observation  and  correction.  Shall  prob- 
ably be  firing  all  afternoon. 

My  routine  while  we  are  In  the  position  we 
hold  now  will  probably  be  a  couple  of  days  with 
the  battery — next  two  observing  from  the 
trenches,  then  two  days  back  with  the  wagon 
lines.  These  are  particularly  easy  when  the 
weather  Is  fine. 

I  have  not  yet  been  up  to  the  forward  trenches, 
but  shall  probably  take  a  walk  up  this  afternoon. 
If  we  finish  registering  in  time.  Likewise,  we  have 
not  yet  been  shelled — but  I  have  little  doubt  that 
both  of  these  deficiencies  will  be  made  up  In  time 
for  me  to  get  a  few  descriptive  words  re  each  Into 
this  letter  before  mailing.  Otherwise,  this  com- 
pletes my  report  to  date. 

By  the  way — will  you  please  subscribe  at  once 
for  the  Saturday  Evening  Post  and  Life  to  be  sent 
to  me?  I  have  been  breaking  my  neck  to  get  them 
through  London  and  am  constantly  missing  im- 
portant parts  of  my  serials !  Also  send  along — ■ 
the  whole  bunch  of  you,  mind — all  the  cigarettes 
you  can  lay  your  hands  on  and  keep  on  sending. 
Mark  the  packages  *'For  distribution  'D'  Bat- 
tery" and  they  will  send  them  along  duty  free. 
Cheapness  and  quantity  should  be  your  watchword 


142        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

and  I  am  going  to  assure  you  that  it  will  be  one 
of  the  greatest  charities  you  can  ever  give  to.  The 
men  are  constantly  short  and  think  more  of  a 
cigarette  than  a  meal  any  day.  Also  It  gives  me  a 
very  efficient  means  of  entirely  //wauthorlzed  pun- 
ishment by  stopping  the  gifts  of  any  one  who  gets 
a  little  gay. 

The  Sunday  papers  which  Gookle  sends  me  are 
the  greatest  treat  I  have,  so  you  might  each  bear 
it  in  mind  to  send  anything  good  that  you  come 
across  any  time  you  feel  like  it.  And  last  of  all, 
will  one  of  you  send  me  a  little  can  of  maple  syrup 
every  once  in  a  while?  I  don't  want  to  pile  all 
the  requests  on  Gookle. 

The  chance  has  just  come  to  mall  this,  so  I  am 
going  to  close  It  quickly  and  get  It  away.  So  that 
you  won't  be  too  awed,  I  must  reach  the  anti- 
climax and  tell  you  that  In  spite  of  everything, 
the  Inhabitants  are  farming  and  kids  playing  in 
the  street  less  than  half  a  mile  away.  My  next 
letter,  which  I  hope  will  follow  in  a  few  days,  will 
probably  contain  a  little  more  excitement. 

So-long  for  the  present  and  write  me  more 
letters. 

Always  affectionately, 

Habs. 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      143 

To  Lucile. 

At  the  Battery, 
France,  17th  of  Sept.,  1915. 

What  a  Dear  Little  Gookie  I 

Was  there  ever  a  sister  like  her  in  all  the 
world — I  think  not. 

The  picture  book  came  last  night  and  never  in 
my  life  have  I  seen  anything  quite  so  perfect  nor 
so  adorably  gotten  up — nor  have  I  ever  received 
a  present,  even  from  you,  that  was  quite  so  dear 
a  surprise.  I  have  feasted  my  eyes  on  It  for  hours 
already,  and  rarely  will  a  day  pass  from  now  on 
that  I  do  not  go  through  it  again,  and  sit  beside 
you  and  walk  with  you  and  dear  Davy  and  Georgie 
and  the  Colonel  In  that  little  Piedmont  garden 
of  my  heart. 

The  pictures  bring  you  almost  closer  than  any- 
thing— certainly  they  are  a  more  real  assurance 
that  all  goes  on  as  usual  and  that  the  goose  hangs 
high  at  home. 

It  has  been  a  great  annoyance  to  me  that  I 
have  been  unable  to  send  you  regular  snapshots 
of  myself  during  my  long  training,  for  I  realize 
how  much  more  it  would  have  brought  home  to 
you  the  atmosphere  of  my  surroundings  than  my 
letters — pictures  of  my  different  camps — the  bar- 
racks, the  gun  park,  the  mess,  the  guns,  the  teams 
going  into  action,  and  above  all,  the  practice  at 
Salisbury  Plain.  But  of  course  It  is  forbidden.  I 
could  not  have  taken  a  simple  snap  with  even  a 
suggestion  of  a  mlHtary  atmosphere  In  it. 


144        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

This  IS  just  a  little  note  following  the  receipt  of 
the  picture  book  and  isn't  supposed  to  contain 
any  news — -but  before  I  finish  it  I  am  going  to 
tell  you  of  a  little  incident  following  my  arrival 
In  France. 

It  was  the  morning  after  we  bivouacked  at  the 
end  of  our  train  journey — raining  heavily — that 
I  took  the  horses  out  for  an  hour's  trotting  exercise 
along  the  road.  When  I  had  gotten  about  half 
a  mile  up  the  road,  I  found  a  cross-roads,  and 
noticing  one  of  the  life-size  crucifixes  which  mark 
so  many  corners  in  France,  I  made  the  Sign  of 
the  Cross.  Half  a  mile  farther  on  I  found  the 
road  blocked  and  turned  back  with  the  party  to 
the  same  cross-roads  where  I  took  the  (now) 
right-hand  turning.  Half  a  mile  up  I  found  that 
road  also  blocked,  so  I  again  reversed,  and  this 
time  went  right  through  the  cross-roads  and  on 
for  another  half  mile  or  so,  when  looking  at  my 
watch  I  observed  It  to  be  time  to  return.  As  I 
reached  the  cross-roads  for  the  fourth  time  and 
turned  back  the  way  I  had  first  come,  I  looked 
at  the  crucifix  again — and  then  It  suddenly  struck 
me  that  I  had  led  the  whole  party  of  one  hundred 
horses  and  fifty  men  through  the  actual  delinea- 
tion of  the  Sign  of  the  Cross,  with  the  arms  half 
a  mile  long,  and  the  centre  marked  by  the  crucifix 
itself  at  the  crossroads — and  I  marvelled  silently 
and  reflected  that  it  was  a  fair  omen  for  me  and 
for  the  battery  here  in  France. 

Always  the  same  love  from 

Habs. 


INIorxTED 


V 

BATTLE  OF  LOOS 

*J  General  Letter, 

Belgium,  October  5,  191 5. 

Dearest  Folks, 

A  couple  of  days  after  I  last  wrote  you,  we  re- 
ceived orders  of  the  hour  of  the  commencement 
of  the  bombardment  preceding  the  great  attack 
of  which  you  have  long  since  had  full  news  through 
the  medium  of  the  Call,  Chronicle,  Examiner,  et 
al.  I  was  down  at  the  wagon  lines  for  my  three 
days*  rest  (?)  and  mounted  after  an  early  break- 
fast and  rode  up  to  the  battery.  There  was  no 
disguising  what  was  in  progress  along  the  full 
extent  of  the  line.  Thousands  of  guns  were  busy 
throwing  every  description  and  calibre  of  shell 
against  Germany,  and  their  roar  must  have  been 
audible  fifty  miles  away.  As  I  rode  up  I  passed 
to  a  safe  distance  in  rear  and  when  I  reached  the 
guns  the  district  was  pretty  well  cleared  for  action. 
(To  save  time  I  insert  here  a  page  of  notes  I 
made  in  the  afternoon,  which  covers  the  ground). 

*  This  letter  was  printed  by  his  friends,  quite  without  Harry's 
knowledge,  in  the  San  Francisco  Argonaut. 

145 


146        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

FIRST    DAY     UNDER     FIRE 

France,  September  21,  1915. 

**Wakened  at  eight  in  Captain^s  comfortable 
billet  near  wagon  lines,  dressed  and  breakfasted 
comfortably  and  left  mounted  with  groom  for 
battery  at  9:05.  Rode  fast  and  arrived  about 
quarter  to  ten  to  find  bombardment  well  started. 
As  I  dismounted  and  turned  the  corner  round  our 
house  to  walk  over  to  the  telephone  dugout  to 
join  Humphrey,  I  heard  my  first  enemy  shell, 
about  a  second  of  Its  whine  and  then  the  crash  in 
front  of  No.  4  gun  of  the  battery  on  our  right, 
about  fifty  yards  in  front  of  me.  I  sneaked  for 
the  dugout;  for  a  half  hour  from  then  on  they 
came  over  in  small  lots  (probably  five-inch  com- 
mon shell)  scared  the  next  battery  into  their  cel- 
lars and  put  the  fear  of  God  into  the  hearts  of 
my  No.  I  detachment.  All  day  we  have  been 
firing  about  i  per  minute  on  their  wire.  Captain 
and  Baxter  observing  from  forward  .  .  .  Hump 
and  I  here.  Abbot  is  doing  Sergt.  Major.  The 
chief  trouble  has  been  our  betrayal  by  dust.  I 
have  hounded  the  men  to  bring  water  for  the  pits, 
but  they  are  slow — slow — 

"At  present  (4:00  P.  M.)  about  one  enemy  shell 
per  two  minutes  is  dropping  20 — 50  yards  over  us 
and  I  wish  they  would  Increase  their  range.'^ 

This  account  pretty  well  covers  the  conditions 
at  the  battery  during  the  next  four  days.  The 
Huns  were  shooting  blind,  I  judge,  and  did  not 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       147 

have  any  ammunition  to  waste  on  sniping  for  us, 
wherefore  we  only  had  to  put  up  with  the  desultory 
fire  of  thirty  odd  shells  a  day,  no  high  explosives 
and  only  a  few  times  shrapnel,  which  did  no  more 
than  render  my  shaving  place  untenable  and  called 
for  a  little  caution  in  going  from  the  house  to 
the  battery. 

Our  observation  station  was  about  a  mile  in 
front  of  the  guns  In  one  of  our  support  trenches 
and  those  connected  by  telephone  with  the  bat- 
tery. One  of  us  v/as  on  post  each  day  controlling 
the  fire  that  we  were  throwing  Into  the  German 
wire  entanglements,  cutting  lanes  through  It  and 
sweeping  sections  of  It  away  where  we  were  able, 
to  open  the  way  for  our  Infantry  to  charge 
through  when  the  attack  should  be  ordered. 

Stand  In  my  place  a  minute,  my  dearest  folks, 
in  this  forward  observation  station  of  mine,  look 
through  my  eyes  on  the  work  In  front  of  you  and 
pass  your  orders  to  the  telephonist  behind.  Stand- 
ing on  a  high  step  you  lean  against  the  sandbags 
In  front  and  peering  out  over  the  top  take  a  look 
over  the  sight  in  front  of  you. 

The  country  Is  rather  flat,  very  brown  and 
monotonous  with  few  objects  to  break  the  line, 
but  right  in  front  of  you  are  the  white  lines  of 
trenches,  thin  chalk  parapets  showing  jaggedly, 
glaring  as  they  stretch  away  across  the  land.  The 
space  between  the  two  middle  ones  Is  greater  than 
between  the  others  and  you  know  that  the  third 
from  you  is  the  German  first  line,  and  looking 
closer  you  see  In  front  of  this  the  ugly  looking 
wire  barrier,  double  the  number  of  posts  that  our 


148        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

own  shows,  and  more  and  heavier  wire.  You 
know  that  It  Is  about  ten  yards  broad  and  as 
strong  as  German  efficiency  and  driving  can  make 
It.  And  it  is  THIS  that  you  have  got  to  tear* 
a  way  through  with  your  four-Inch  guns  that  await 
your  orders  so  expectantly  a  mile  behind  you. 
Your  lines  of  fire  are  already  laid  out,  so  when 
your  telephonist  announces  that  he  is  "through'* 
to  the  battery  and  you  see  that  your  penciller  is 
ready  to  take  down  orders,  you  settle  yourself  as 
comfortably  and  steadily  as  possible  and  pass  the 
order — "No.  3  gun,  ranging  3500  metres,  correc- 
tion 12.6,  report  when  ready."  In  a  minute  the 
answer  comes:  "No.  3,  all  ready  to  fire,  sir,"  and 
you  give  "Fire  No.  3."  Another  Interval  and 
then:  "No.  3  fired,  sir."  A  second  more  and  you 
get  the  report  and  hear  the  shell  go  winging  Its 
way,  and  then — Ah!  There  she  puiis  and  the 
little  white  bundle  of  cotton  wool  suddenly  springs 
into  being  just  over  the  German  parapet  and  per- 
haps you  see  the  splash  of  the  bullets  on  the 
chalk.  "High  and  to  the  right,"  you  comment, 
and  pass  the  order  "1.30'  more  left;  correction 
132  (lengthening  the  fuse)  repeat"  and  when  she 
is  ready  "fire!"  Again  you  hear  the  report  and 
the  hiss  of  the  shell  and  this  time  up  go  your 
glasses  to  your  eyes,  for  you  know  where  the  burst 
will  be,  and  you  want  to  observe  the  effect. 
"Puff — splash!"  There  she  Is  again,  only  a  couple 
of  minutes  above  the  line  of  sight  or  a  few  feet 
above  the  ground  this  time,  but  you  can  see  it  Is 
short,  so  you  add  fifty  yards  to  the  range  and 
wait  for  the  next  one.    Three  times  Is  the  charm, 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      149 

and  If  you  are  lucky  this  little  puff-ball  blossoms 
right  In  the  middle  of  the  German  wire.  You 
lengthen  your  fuse  just  a  little  more,  so  that  your 
shells  will  burst  and  graze,  for  that's  the  way  to 
cut  wire,  and  now  that  you've  got  it,  you  keep 
on  throwing  them  into  that  spot  until  you  can  see 
the  posts  commence  to  thin  out  and  the  tangle  get 
light  and  shaky.  Perhaps  you  correct  8'  right  or 
left  to  widen  your  lane  a  little  and  add  12^  yards 
or  25  yards  as  you  progress,  and  if  you  find  that 
the  posts  are  standing  up  too  solid  and  that  your 
shots  are  failing  of  effect,  you  shake  It  up  with  a 
few  rounds  of  high  explosive,  just  enough  to  give 
the  shrapnel  a  hold  because  H.  E.  will  only  start 
the  work,  and  then  fails  of  further  effect.  In 
thirty  or  forty  rounds,  unless  you  are  up  against 
a  particularly  stubborn  piece,  you  have  cleared  a 
lane  10-15  yards  wide  thro'  the  barrier  and  the 
white  parapet  shows  clear  and  unbroken  through 
the  gap.  When  you  get  this,  you  probably  stop  a 
few  rounds  to  light  a  cigarette  or  ease  your  posi- 
tion, and  then  shift  your  line  of  fire  a  little  further 
along  and  start  another  hole. 

It  is  queer  work,  this  preliminary  bombardment 
of  vv^ire  cutting,  for  we  never  see  so  much  as  a 
head  over  the  enemy's  parapet.  All  the  while 
hundreds  of  shells  are  bursting  all  along  the  line 
doing  the  same  work  as  yourself  and  sometimes 
Interfering,  by  reason  of  their  dense  volumes  of 
smoke,  with  your  own  observations,  but  there  Is  a 
satisfaction  In  the  work  and  a  fearful  responsibil- 
ity that  forbids  failure,  because  you  know  that 
when  the  Infantry  get  the  order  to  charge,  they 


ISO        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

must  have  a  clear  road  to  go  through,  else  the 
machine  guns  will  tear  their  ranks  beyond  any 
recognition,  and  the  tragedy  of  a  charge  in  the 
face  of  such  fire  as  they  always  get,  being  caught 
in  an  entanglement  that  is  supposed  to  have  been 
cut  and  isn't,  is  too  fearful  a  nightmare  for  a 
man  to  have  on  his  conscience  and  retain  his 
sanity. 

So,  when  the  last  posts  that  have  been  standing 
go  by  the  board  under  the  latest  shot,  and  you  see 
that  you  have  cut  your  hold  cleanly,  you  sigh  with 
relief,  and  thank  God  that  when  the  time  comes 
for  our  brave  boys  to  go  through  flying,  with  their 
Royal  Cheer,  that  in  that  spot,  at  any  rate,  no  lad 
will  be  held  by  that  stinking  wire  to  await  the 
steadier  aim  of  a  German  rifle. 

During  each  night  of  the  four  days,  one  of  us 
stopped  up  with  the  battery,  to  maintain  sufl^cient 
fire  to  preclude  the  enemy's  repairing  the  openings 
cut  during  the  day,  and  another  of  us  stopped 
forward  at  the  infantry  headquarters  to  keep  in 
touch  with  their  commander  in  case  our  fire  should 
be  needed  to  repulse  an  attack. 

TWO   DAYS    LATER 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day  of  bom- 
bardment, our  officers  met  together  for  half  an 
hour,  while  the  Colonel  commanding  our  group 
explained  to  us  the  last  details  of  the  morrow's 
attack  (our  part  being  over  an  hour's  rapid  bar- 
rage of  shrapnel  by  all  guns  at  a  series  of  pro- 
gressive' ranges)    after  which  we   had  our  last 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      151 

meal  in  the  cellar,  and  at  midnight  the  Captain 
and  I  started  out  with  the  three  telephonists  for 
the  forward  observing  station. 

We  went  overland  to  avoid  the  crush  of  in- 
fantry being  moved  up  for  the  attack,  and  got 
separated  in  the  darkness  through  my  going  back 
to  hurry  the  others  on,  so  that  I  struck  off  on  my 
own  hook  across  the  fields,  and  after  crossing  a 
good  many  trenches  and  wire  entanglements,  being 
challenged  a  number  of  times  and  falling  under 
grave  suspicion  as  a  probable  German  spy,  I 
reached  our  F.  O.  S.  alone  and  threw  myself  down 
in  the  long  grass  In  front  of  the  parapet  to  sleep. 

After  a  couple  of  hours  I  was  driven  Into  one 
of  the  dugouts  by  the  morning  chill  and  the  next 
thing  I  knew,  the  day  had  broken  and  I  found  the 
Captain  shaking  me  by  the  shoulder  and  telling 
me  that  the  attack  was  about  to  commence.  Wide 
awake  at  once,  I  jumped  up  and  shook  myself, 
took  a  pull  at  my  rum  flask  and  lighting  the  day's 
first  cigarette,  climbed  up  Into  the  observing  posi- 
tion and  peeled  my  eyes  to  watch  one  of  the  great- 
est attacks  of  all  history. 

In  less  than  a  minute  the  first  gun  sounded;  in 
less  than  another  the  concentrated  fire  of  half  a 
thousand  guns  was  bursting  on  the  German  para- 
pet 500  yards  away.  How  can  I  describe  what 
It  was  like,  my  dearest  folks?  How  convey  to 
you  the  Impression  on  my  mind  of  an  action  so 
stupendous  that  It  fails  of  any  distinctive  Im- 
pression of  Its  own  at  all?  A  solid  wall  of  grey 
cloud,  having  birth  In  an  infinite  number  of 
splashes  of  flame  and  rising  sluggishly  upwards 


152        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

through  the  morning  mists,  a  roar  incessant  as  of 
the  roof  torn  off  of  the  living  hell,  this  is  all  that 
my  mind  has  retained  of  the  commencement  of 
that  morning's  work. 

For  ten  minutes  no  sign  of  anything  happening 
in  the  German  trenches — and  then,  so  suddenly 
it  shocked  my  sight  and  made  my  heart  take  an 
extra  leap,  the  Bosches  commenced  to  POUR 
out  of  their  trenches  like  rats  being  smoked  out 
of  their  holes.  I  rubbed  my  eyes  and  stared,  for 
they  appeared  to  be  massing  in  the  midst  of  the 
deadly  curtain  and  not  a  man  to  be  struck  down, 
but  in  another  minute  I  distinguished  a  gap  of 
several  hundreds  of  yards  In  the  left  of  the  shell 
zone,  and  observed  that  It  was  Into  this  that  they 
were  fleeing.  For  minutes  the  stream  continued 
until  there  must  have  been  200  of  them  In  that 
spot,  but  never  a  bit  of  fire  was  turned  on  them, 
the  while  my  bewilderment  Increased,  until  It  sud- 
denly dawned  on  me  that  these  men  were  sur- 
rendering, and  that  they  only  waited  the  coming 
of  the  word  from  our  men  to  march  In  and  give 
themselves  up.  For  all  that,  this  was  my  first 
sight  of  the  enemy  and  I  watched  the  continu- 
ance of  the  bombardment  with  a  quickened  pulse. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  period  in  the  program, 
there  came  a  momentary  lull,  the  first  lift  of  our 
guns;  then  the  fire  was  resumed,  on  their  support 
trenches  600  yards  farther  away,  and  simul- 
taneously with  a  great  cheer  our  infantry  were 
over  the  top  and  charging  across  for  the  German 
first  line  trenches.  With  little  opposition  they 
streamed  Into  it  and  there  stopped  to  await  the  sec- 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      153 

ond  lift,  and  with  that  second  charge  they  were 
over  the  crest  and  cut  off  from  our  view;  on  to 
victory  we  hoped  and  prayed,  but  it  will  be  an- 
other hour  now  before  we  can  hear. 


THREE  DAYS    LATER 

Of  what  took  place  beyond  that  crest,  dearest 
folks,  I  can  only  tell  you  from  report,  for  the 
actual  assault  and  battle  were  out  of  my  sight 
from  the  minute  last  recorded. 

All  I  know  definitely  is  that  we  advanced  over 
a  front  of  a  good  many  miles,  for  a  considerable 
distance,  varying  of  course,  but  still  considerable. 
One  im.portant  town  ahead  of  us  we  took  almost 
without  opposition;  another  held  out  for  a  long 
while  and  a  third  the  enemy  still  holds.  I  can 
safely  say  only  that  we  took  the  whole  of  their 
first  line  of  defence — fire  trenches,  supports  and 
reserves  and  have  held  it  against  all  counter- 
attacks, and  if  you  would  pin  me  down  to  actual 
yards  I  can  but  answer  for  my  own  front,  where 
two  days  later  I  set  up  my  forward  observing 
station  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  the  point  that 
I  was  firing  on  on  this  occasion. 

"Not  a  great  part  of  the  way  to  Berlin"  you 
may  think,  but  then  it  is  something  to  have  forced 
back  even  a  mile  of  a  line  which  for  twelve  months 
had  repulsed  all  efforts  to  shake  its  impregna- 
bility. 

However,  to  get  on  with  the  battle.  At  the 
end  of  an  hour  and  a  quarter  from  the  commence- 
ment of  the  bombardment,  all  artillery  fire  ceased 


154        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  AT 

suddenly  and  completely;  and  after  standing  by 
for  another  couple  of  hours  In  case  of  need,  the 
Captain  sent  me  to  report  to  our  Colonel  for  per- 
mission to  rejoin  the  battery,  as  our  telephone 
wires  were  hopelessly  cut  by  the  heavy  reply  of 
the  German  guns. 

Although  a  goodly  number  of  stray  rifle  and 
machine  gun  bullets  were  singing  their  little  song, 
everybody  was  up  and  out  on  the  ground  by  now, 
and  on  my  way  across  I  met  numbers  of  parties, 
all  of  whom  had  something  to  say.  A  reconnals- 
ance  party  of  cavalry  dashed  up  hunting  for  the 
road  and  eagerly  demanding  whether  the  sappers 
had  bridged  the  German  trenches  yet.  They  were 
awaiting  orders — understood  that  we  were  held 
up  In  the  center — wire  not  cut — gas  too  thick  or 
something,  but  the  right  division  of  cavalry  had 
broken  through  and  were  cutting  them  up  over 

beyond  the  town  of which  we  had  taken  at 

half  past  eight;  the  Black  Watch  had  run  amuck 
and  killed  everything  In  sight  and  hell  was  popping 
over  the  ridge. 

A  party  of  lOO  dirty  grey  prisoners — ugly 
looking  brutes — came  In  sight,  being  marched 
back  by  a  detachment  of  our  slightly  wounded, 
bringing  with  them  a  smell  of  the  stinking  gas, 
and  queer  figures  our  boys  made  with  their  grey 
flannel  helmets  rolled  on  top  of  their  heads!  I 
thanked  God  I  hadn't  had  to  take  mine  out  of  Its 
case. 

When  I  finally  got  across  the  maze  of  defences 
to  the  Colonel's  20-foot-deep-telephone  dugout,  he 
readily  consented  to  my  returning  to  the  battery, 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       155 

so  I  returned,  joined  the  Captain  and  back  we 
started. 

It  was  a  little  tricky  now,  wet  from  a  day's 
rain,  and  what  with  wounded  who  were  coming 
Into  the  first  aid  station  pretty  fast  by  now,  the 
prisoners  who  were  being  marched  In,  and  the 
ambulances  coming  up  In  a  long  train,  we  kept  to 
the  fields,  especially  as  the  Huns  started  shelling 
the  road  with  6  In.  H.  F.  Arrived  back,  there 
was  nothing  for  several  hours  except  to  watch  the 
gruesome  traffic;  exchange  reports  with  anybody 
who  passed  and  await  orders;  the  while  we  knew 
the  most  desperate  fighting  was  going  on  beyond 
the  ridge.  At  six  o'clock,  when  it  was  getting 
dusk,  orders  arrived  for  us  to  bring  up  the  wagons 
and  teams  Immediately,  get  the  guns  out  of  the 
pits,  limber  up,  and  stand  by  to  advance.  All  we 
knew  of  the  wagon  line  was  that  It  was  lost  with 
a  hundred  others  somewhere  between  three  and 
six  miles  In  the  rear  In  some  network  of  roads, 
and  of  course  I  was  elected.  (I  always  am  on  that 
kind  of  a  job — I  will  spare  you,  however,  the  ac- 
count of  the  job!)  Suffice  It  to  say  that  In  just 
another  hour  I  found  It;  In  just  another  I  was 
hitched  up  and  on  the  road,  and  In  the  third  I 
drew  breath  and  halted  alongside  the  guns. 
Popped  down  and  ate  and  drank  all  I  could;  saw 
my  kit  aboard  a  limber,  and  then  waited  once 
more. 

The  night  was  clear  and  cold,  with  a  bright 
moon,  and  with  nothing  but  an  occasional  *'plp- 
squeak"  **whlz-bang"  to  disturb  the  silence,  we 
stood  by  our  horses  for  two  hours  more  and  then 


156        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

orders  came  to  advance  three-quarters  of  a  mile 
and  go  Into  action  with  the  other  three  batteries 
of  our  brigade — slap  bang  In  the  middle  of  the 
open  field,  guns  to  be  dug  In  as  sound  as  possible 
by  dawn. 

"Poles  up,  girths  tightened;  battery  prepare  to 
mount,"  goes  the  order.  "Mount"  and  "Walk 
march,"  and  we  are  on  our  way  up  the  road. 
Plenty  of  traffic  both  ways,  so  we  must  go  slow, 
and  around  the  corner  where  they  are  strafeing 
the  water  tov/er  we  seem  to  crawl,  but  another 
half  hour  of  sneaking  under  only  desultory  fire 
sees  us  out  Into  the  open  and  the  Captain  goes 
forward  to  choose  our  position.  In  ten  minutes 
he  Is  back,  and  now  one  at  a  time  through  the 
heavy  ground  we  run  the  guns  and  wagons  up 
and  drop  Into  action  behind  an  old  trench.  The 
whole  brigade  Is  stringing  out  on  our  right  and  In 
a  half  hour  when  we  have  handed  over  the  teams 
to  Humphrey,  who  takes  them  far  to  the  rear 
and  forms  his  wagon  lines,  It's  a  case  of  turn  to 
and  dig  until  dawn,  for  we'll  need  what  poor 
cover  we  can  get  when  the  Bosches  find  us  there 
in  the  morning. 

At  4  o'clock,  when  the  sky  begins  to  lighten,  I 
break  the  men  off,  as  the  Captain  has  gone  for- 
ward with  his  signallers  and  wire,  to  try  to  locate 
a  point  from  which  he  can  observe.  And  myself, 
I  roll  Into  my  valise  for  an  hour's  stolen  sleep. 
Little  indeed  is  the  rest  vouchsafed  to  the  wicked. 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      157 

NEXT   DAY 

I  was  awakened  in  an  hour  by  orders  from  the 
Colonel  to  lay  the  guns  onto  some  lively  spot  on 
the  map  a  couple  of  miles  away.  The  fog  had 
settled  down  so  heavily  that  I  could  not  even 
pick  an  aiming  point,  so  after  working  out  the 
lines  of  fire  on  the  map  I  called  for  my  director 
(a  very  simple  and  primitive  type  of  transit)  and 
by  the  aid  of  Gus  and  Cookie's  compass,  I  sought 
the  direction,  as  so  often  in  the  past  from  the  well 
beloved  magnetic  pole,  and  gave  the  four  guns 
their  angles. 

In  half  an  hour — wonderful  to  record — break- 
fast was  cooked  and  I  was  biting  into  a  sea  biscuit 
covered  with  jam,  when  an  orderly  came  tumbling 
over  from  Headquarters  with  "The  Colonel's 
compliments  and  you  are  to  open  battery  fire  15 
seconds  (interval)  sweeping  1°,  and  marching  25 
yards — 25  per  cent,  high  explosive  until  further 
orders." 

Without  laying  down  the  biscuit  or  kicking  over 
my  cup  of  tea,  I  sung  out  "Battery — Action!" 
The  detachments  jumped  to  their  posts,  the  Nos.  i 
(sergeants  commanding  each  gim)  eager  for  the 
order.  "Lines  of  fire,  as  laid — corrector  112  .  .  . 
etc.,  etc.!"  and  in  another  minute  the* battery  is 
gaily  blazing  away,  four  rounds  per  minute,  and 
I,  keeping  only  a  watchful  eye  on  things,  return 
to  my  breakfast. 

We  maintained  this  fire  for  two  and  a  half 
hours.  Meanwhile  the  mist  had  cleared  and  the 
sun  come  out  bright  and  warm,  and  the  skipper 


158        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

had  returned  from  forward  to  take  command  of 
the  battery,  having  failed  to  find  a  point  from 
which  he  could  observe.  And  now  the  second  day 
of  attack  was  on,  and  the  moving  picture  of  the 
battle,  so  different  from  yesterday's,  was  cast 
pretty  much  in  the  form  it  was  to  maintain 
throughout  the  day,  and  this  is  the  way  I  will  give 
it  to  you,  sparing  you  the  tedium  of  the  hourly 
progress. 

Our  own  position,  as  I  have  said,  was  in  the 
middle  of  an  open  expanse  of  many  square  miles, 
with  only  the  low  crest  a  mile  away  for  cover.  A 
mile  in  rear  is  the  sizable  town  and  the  black 
slag  heaps  from  the  mines;  on  our  left  a  large 
farm  used  as  a  collecting  station  for  the  wounded; 
while  a  couple  of  roads  run  obliquely  forward  into 
Germany  and  back  to  our  rear. 

There  are  probably  four  brigades  of  field  artil- 
lery in  action.  Our  own,  two  on  our  flanks  and 
one  a  mile  in  front,  which  looks  like  a  dangerous 
position.  The  whole  expanse  to  our  rear  is  thick 
with  wagon  lines  of  probably  fifteen  batteries  and 
ammunition  columns,  half  a  dozen  of  which  are 
constantly  on  the  move  bringing  up  ammunition 
to  their  guns.  The  two  roads  are  thronged  with 
troops  going  to  the  attack;  prisoners  and  wounded 
returning;  and  in  the  rear,  ambulances  coming 
for  the  wounded. 

By  now  the  Germans  are  shelling  us  heavily,  but 
bhndly.  They  evidently  can  find  little  to  range 
on  except  the  roads,  where  they  keep  everybody 
pretty  much  on  the  double,  but  don't  make  as 
many  direct  hits  as  one  might  expect;  and  as  for 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       159 

our  great  field  of  guns  and  horses,  they  simply 
throw  their  six-Inch  high  explosive  quite  Indis- 
criminately over  it.  It  Is  wonderful  to  relate  that 
they  must  have  put  a  thousand  of  these  great 
packages  of  hate,  more  or  less,  into  our  midst  that 
day,  and  that  I  did  not  see  a  horse  or  a  man  struck 
down.  If  they  had  used  shrapnel,  they  must  have 
gotten  a  huge  bag.  I  believe  there  were  a  few 
casualties  and  during  the  afternoon  one  of  our 
subalterns  came  limping  past,  grinning  broadly 
with  a  piece  of  H.  E.  splinter  through  his  leg. 

Just  after  lunch,  however,  they  did  get  the  range 
of  that  unfortunate  brigade  that  had  gone  into 
action  so  far  In  front  of  us,  and  we  were  treated 
to  a  sight  of  the  poor  devils  being  strafed  out 
four  mortal  hours,  by  one  round  a  minute  of  the 
same  damned  stuff.  They  stuck  to  their  guns  until 
three  detachments  were  wiped  out,  and  then  with- 
drew to  their  trenches  and  watched  the  remainder 
disintegrate,  for  they  couldn't  get  their  teams  up 
to  get  the  guns  out. 

All  day  long  the  advance  hung  in  the  balance, 
for  the  Germans  were  pushing  their  counter- 
attack with  all  the  vim  they  could  muster,  and 
many  times  during  the  day  the  line  of  supports 
swung  back  over  the  crest  and  then  forward  again 
out  of  our  sight.  The  reports  were  all  entirely 
unbelievable  and  the  general  tone  rather  dis- 
couraging; but  for  my  part  I  always  believe  the 
second  day  brings  the  reaction  and  is  not  to  be 
considered  critical. 

Seven  times  between  dawn  and  dark  did 
Humphrey  bring  up  the  wagons  full  of  ammuni- 


i6o         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

tion  and  I  believe  we  fired  well  over  a  thousand 
rounds.  We  stood  by  frequently  and  fired  a  good 
deal  of  It  at  slow  rate,  but  the  greater  part  of 
it  went  in  compliance  with  frantic  orders  from 
Headquarters  for  "Battery  fire  two  seconds"  or 
"gun  fire"  (go  as  you  like  or  as  fast  as  you  can). 
The  two  forward  observing  officers  of  the  day 
were  in  sight  of  the  enemy  all  day,  nearly  cap- 
tured once,  and  their  telephonists  were  mending 
their  wire  under  a  heavy  rifle  fire  all  day  long. 
Towards  evening  things  commenced  to  quiet  down, 
and  when  the  sun  set  and  we  laid  the  guns  out  on 
the  night  lines,  I  thought  that  we  would  sup  in 
peace;  but  the  Bosches  had  only  waited  the  annoy- 
ing time  to  search  for  us  with  a  few  whizz-bangs. 
Didn't  last  long,  though,  and  I  rolled  in  at  eight 
under  bright  stars. 

NEXT  DAY 

At  4  A.  M.,  an  orderly  called  the  skipper,  who 
was  sleeping  alongside  me,  and  I  grinned  and 
rolled  over  as  I  heard  him  turn  out  with  a  groan 
and  ask  what  "the  cast  iron  hurry"  was,  to  be 
answered  that  the  Colonel  wished  all  battery  com- 
manders for  a  conference.  After  a  half  hour's 
extra  sleep  he  returned  to  rout  me  out  to  listen  to 
the  plan. 

It  seems  that  Sir  Godfrey  Thomas  had  been 
called  to  another  part  of  the  line  and  left  our 
Colonel  commanding  the  Divisional  Artillery.  He 
in  turn  had  placed  our  senior  Major  In  command 
of  the  brigade,  which  was  now  split  up  into  three 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       i6i 

groups,  owing  to  some  of  the  guns  being  out  of 
action  with  busted  buffer  springs,  our  own  battery 
being  the  only  one  to  have  all  four  firing.  It  was 
required  that  the  three  group  commanders  and 
forward  observing  officers  for  the  day  should  im- 
mediately go  forward  with  their  telephonists, 
choose  their  observation  stations  and  lay  their 
plans. 

So  off  the  five  of  us  started  at  once.  The  light 
was  as  yet  little  past  dawn,  and  the  enemy  had 
not  begun  to  strafe,  so  the  walk  was  a  quiet  one. 
We  talked  little  as  we  pushed  on  over  lines  of 
trenches  or  barriers  until  we  crossed  our  late  fire 
trenches.  The  signs  of  battle  were  few,  except 
for  the  shell-torn  position  held  by  the  unlucky 
artillery  brigade  yesterday,  and  evacuated  during 
the  night,  but  here  we  commenced  to  come  across 
the  dead.  In  little  knots  they  lay,  struck  down  in 
every  posture  and  with  all  sorts  of  ghastly  wounds 
to  show  how  they  had  died.  Many  were  still 
warm,  I  know,  and  not  all  were  dead. 

We  pushed  on  across  the  dreadful  strip  of 
what  had  been  no  man's  land  two  days  before,  but 
was  ours  now,  at  the  price  numbered  by  those 
silent  figures  (and  the  Kaiser's  receipt  acknowl- 
edged by  the  proportion  of  dirty  gray  uniforms 
among  them) — on  to  the  first  German  fire 
trenches;  and  here  the  dead  were  rare,  for  most  of 
their  defenders  had  preferred  to  leave  as  prison- 
ers. The  loot,  however,  was  far  more  plentiful 
and  the  ground  was  strewn  with  every  description 
of  rifle,  bayonet  and  equipment.  On  across  the  line 
of  support  trenches  and  across  the  last  broad  gap 


1 62        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

of  several  hundred  yards  to  the  reserve  line,  to 
find  the  gladdest  and  bravest  sight  that  ever  glad- 
dened my  eyes,  for  they  were  occupied  by  the 
finest  body  of  fighting  troops,  I  verily  believe,  in 
all  the  world — the  whole  division  of  Guards, 
12,000  strong,  the  first  pick  of  the  whole  British 
army.  Not  a  man  under  five  feet  ten  inches,  mag- 
nificently disciplined  and  with  the  unbeaten  tradi- 
tions of  five  centuries  behind  them.  They  had 
been  pushed  up  during  the  night  and  were  now 
cooking  their  breakfast;  in  high  spirits,  clean  and 
dry  and  in  the  very  pink  of  fighting  condition, 
their  shining  rifles  with  bayonets  fixed  bristhng 
over  the  parapet.  And  our  Divisional  Artillery 
were  to  have  the  honor  of  reinforcing  them ! 

This  late  German  reserve  trench  occupied  an 
ideal  position  for  our  first  fire,  for  the  land  sloped 
off  beyond  it  into  a  gentle  hollow  several  metres 
below,  and  then  away  up  on  the  other  slope,  the 
whole  country  being  beautifully  visible,  for  a  mile 
or  more,  to  the  top  of  the  first  crest,  so  that  we 
selected  our  observation  post  with  speed  in  the 
most  advanced  salient  of  the  Second  Coldstream 
Guards'  trenches;  pointed  out  directions  for  the 
wire  laying  to  our  telephonists  and  then  shoved 
off  back  to  the  battery,  where  we  breakfasted  and 
— luxury  of  luxuries — had  a  wash  and  a  shave. 
Two  hours  later  when  Ludlow  (the  other  sub- 
altern and  a  splendid  chap  who  knows  his  work 
thoroughly)  and  myself  set  out  again  to  go  up, 
the  Huns  were  shelling  heavily  and  for  a  part  of 
the  way  it  was  quite  tricky  work. 

Now,  whenever  you  hear  a  "heavy"  coming,  the 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      163 

thing  to  do  Is  to  drop  flat  in  your  tracks,  so  that  if 
It  hits  at  all  near  you,  the  flash  of  the  high  ex- 
plosive and  the  splinters  of  shell  may  pass  over 
you,  for  the  force  is  always  slightly  upward.  I 
soon  noticed,  however,  that  Ludlow,  who  had 
been  forward  in  the  middle  of  things  all  the  day 
before,  only  dropped  about  once  to  my  three 
times;  and  the  occasion  is  therefore  particularly 
Interesting,^  inasmuch  as  I  then  commenced  to 
learn  in  earnest  the  note  of  a  shell  and  to 
recognize  the  danger  pitch.  You  see,  practically 
all  of  the  German  artillery  Is  howitzer  type  throw- 
ing high  angle  fire,  so  that  the  whine  of  the  shell 
commenced  to  reach  you  from  some  point  close 
to  the  zenith  of  Its  parabola  of  flight.  The  larger 
the  shell,  the  sooner  you  can  hear  it;  and  although 
I  have  never  timed  one  (1)1  believe  that  under 
ordinary  conditions  a  six-inch  gives  you  at  least 
four  seconds  of  warning; — at  any  rate,  the  time 
is  ample  for  the  experienced  ear  to  judge  whether 
it  is  going  to  pass  far  enough  to  your  right  or 
left  for  safety,  and  there  Is  a  note  In  the  whine  of 
any  shell  that  is  coming  within  thirty  yards,  a  sort 
of  "this  means  you^^  that  Is  unmistakable.  When 
you  hear  It  you  measure  your  length  with  a  re- 
markable dexterity,  and  If  It  falls  In  the  soft 
ground  within  twenty  yards  of  you,  you  get  up 
pretty  well  covered  with  soft  dirt. 

About  half  way  forward  we  came  to  the  main 
collecting  point  for  the  wounded  that  had  been 
brought  In  during  the  night,  where  the  early  con- 
ditions of  the  war  were  almost  duplicated,  and 
there  lay  men  whose  wounds  were  thirty  odd  hours 


1 64        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

old,  and  who  had  not  tasted  food  or  drink,  nor 
seen  shelter  In  that  time,  now  waiting  for  the 
stretcher  parties  to  carry  them  the  Impassable  mile 
to  the  advanced  dressing  station,  while  the  Huns 
swept  and  searched  for  them  with  two  six  inch 
high  explosives  per  minute. 

We  emptied  our  water  bottles  among  the  worst 
and  distributed  what  cigarettes  we  had,  but  as 
Bull  Durham  and  paper  were  useless  to  the  poor 
beggars,  I  couldn't  leave  them  much.  We  cheered 
them  a  bit,  and  assured  them  the  stretcher  would 
be  there  soon;  then  pushed  on  to  our  posts  and 
flopped  Into  the  trench  and  proceeded  to  hook  up 
the  'phones  and  get  In  touch.  We  had  four  tele- 
phonists apiece,  but  we  needed  all  of  them  for  pa- 
trols that  day,  and  two  more  each  from  the  bat- 
tery to  repair  the  constantly  cut  wire.  Strange 
to  say,  the  day's  work  for  us,  from  then  on,  was 
comparatively  peaceful.  The  present  German  fire 
trench,  their  old  fourth  reserve  line,  was  seven 
hundred  yards  aw^ay  on  the  opposite  slope,  and 
entirely  too  much  exposed  to  our  artillery  lire  for 
them  to  risk  much  work  on  It  In  daylight;  and  al- 
though the  heavy  duels  went  on  without  cessation, 
and  an  occasional  burst  of  whIz-bangs  enfiladed 
our  trenches,  wounding  half  a  dozen  of  the  Guards 
during  the  day  (for  Germany  was  on  three  sides 
of  us  at  once  In  this  salient)  we  were  little  trou- 
bled in  the  trench  itself.  During  the  afternoon  I 
registered  our  fire  on  the  Bosches'  trench,  and  at 
four  we  threw  an  hour's  barrage  of  shrapnel  on- 
to the  road  In  the  hollow,  in  company  with  all  the 
other  guns  In  the  brigade.     Immediately  follow- 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT       165 

ing  this  the  Irish  Guards  on  our  right  charged 
forward,  to  occupy  a  long  wood  masking  a  part  of 
the  German  trenches;  and  as  they  went  over  the 
top,  two  of  our  trench  mortars  threw  a  long  line 
of  smoke  bombs  prettily,  to  screen  them  from  the 
very  terrible  enfilade  machine  guns'  fire  on  our 
left,  which  had  cut  to  pieces  one  of  our  regiments 
the  day  before,  so  that  they  went  forward  in  four 
companies,  a  most  beautiful  sightj  and  took  the 
wood  almost  without  opposition. 

About  this  time  night  commenced  to  shut  down, 
so  that  I  registered  the  night  lines  for  the  battery 
at  a  point  beyond  the  wood  that  was  now  in  our 
position  (the  wood  I  mean)  and  then  we  lit  a  little 
trench  fire,  Ludlow  and  I,  and  cooked  our  supper. 
A  couple  of  canned  ''Maconochle  rations,"  a  cup 
of  tea  and  some  bread  and  jam  made  a  luxurious 
meal;  and  after  a  pipe,  we  rolled  in  together  to 
our  Pullman  berth  in  the  wall  of  the  trench,  and 
sending  an  orderly  to  remain  at  the  infantry  com- 
mander's dugout  to  call  us  in  case  of  attack,  we 
dropped  peacefully  asleep. 

Two  other  things  stood  out  In  my  memory  from 
this  day,  and  as  It  Is  the  last  one  I  am  going  to  give 
In  detail,  I  may  as  well  throw  them  In.  First :  Two 
subalterns  of  the  Coldstreams,  one  a  very  much 
older  man  than  ourselves,  spent  a  lot  of  time  chin- 
ning during  the  day,  and  as  he  had  travelled  all 
over  the  States,  our  talk  was  mostly  about  them. 
He  told  me  that  they  had  another  American  in 
their  3rd  Battalion  of  the  Coldstreams.  The  sec- 
ond memory  Is  of  a  thing  which  I  had  heard  of 


i66        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

often,  but  now  for  the  first  time  saw.  Every 
stretcher  party  of  wounded  that  set  out  from  our 
own  trench,  or  even  from  behind  it,  to  get  back 
to  the  dressing  station,  was  vigorously  shelled  by 
the  Germans  the  minute  it  was  sighted,  and  in- 
variably the  bearers  had  to  put  our  poor  devils 
down  and  run  for  it,  at  which  the  fire  always 
ceased.  Germany  respects  no  law  of  humanity  on 
her  battlefield — "Strafe  England!"  Is  the  demand 
of  her rulers,  and  her  poor  devils  of  sol- 
diers obey  with  a  vengeance. 

The  next  day  was  almost  a  repetition  of  this 
one.  For  some  reason  or  other  the  time  had  not 
yet  come  to  push  the  attack  any  farther  home — 
the  Coldstream  Guards  did  not  go  out  of  their 
trench;  we  gave  them  only  a  few  hundred  rounds 
(the  battery,  that  is)  during  the  day.  I  returned 
to  the  battery  in  the  afternoon  and  joined  Baxter 
(my  junior  subaltern,  just  out  of  Eton)  who  came 
up  to  take  my  place.  By  the  time  I  got  back,  it 
had  started  to  rain;  and  after  tea  we  had  two 
hours'  rapid  fire  In  the  midst  of  a  downpour.  I 
turned  in.  In  the  bottom  of  a  trench,  but  was  called 
In  an  hour  to  fire  another  hour;  and  this  time  I 
rolled  up  my  bed  with  all  the  mud  that  had  fallen 
in  on  It,  and  spread  it  on  the  open  grass,  where  a 
waterproof  sheet  kept  me  fairly  dry  during  the 
night. 

Next  day  proved  to  be  another  repetition.  At 
five  I  went  forward  to  relieve  Baxter,  spent  sev- 
eral hours  chinning  with  my  friends,  the  Cold- 
streams,  then  turned  in  alone  after  a  bit  of  sup- 
per, and  smoke,  with  my  telephone  line  busted. 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       167 

At  midnight  I  awoke  shivering,  and  as  the  night 
was  clear,  arose  and  warmed  up  by  twenty  min- 
utes' shovelling  on  the  improvement  of  a  neigh- 
boring dugout,  while  the  Guards  were  running 
another  trench  out  ahead.  Turned  in  then,  and 
slept  warm  until  dawn  when  I  was  awakened  by 
the  arrival  of  an  orderly,  who  came  to  tell  me 
that  the  Brigade  had  retired  during  the  night  on 
a  general  order  following  the  receipt  of  the  news 
that  half  our  guns  were  out  of  action — by  the  Di- 
visional Staff  of  Artillery — and  that  they  were 
halting  for  the  day  somewhere  a  few  miles  in  the 
rear!  Marvelling  much,  I  drank  a  hot  cup  of 
tea  with  my  friends,  and  started  back  with  my  four 
signallers  to  locate  them. 

As  I  crossed  the  fields,  the  last  of  the  dead  of 
three  days  before  were  being  buried  by  a  large 
fatigue  party,  and  I  said  "Good  bye"  to  my  first 
great  battlefield,  with  a  sigh  for  all  the  brave  boys 
it  had  taken,  and  a  cheer  for  the  work  they  had 
done.  I  lost  my  signallers  a  couple  of  miles  on 
by  getting  ahead  of  them  in  the  village,  so  stopped 
alone  for  breakfast  on  the  demand  of  a  cheery 
voice  from  the  94th  Brigade  Headquarters,  which 
I  was  overjoyed  to  find  belonged  to  one  of  the 
very  best  chaps  from  my  Lark  Hill  course — Har- 
vey from  Formosa.  Afterwards  I  borrowed  a 
horse  from  one  of  the  other  brigades  of  our  di- 
vision, and  having  fed  my  signallers  again,  pushed 
off  and  located  the  battery  five  miles  away,  just 
as  they  were  sitting  down  to  lunch. 


:i68        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

NEXT   DAY 

Of  the  remaining  five  days  of  strenuous  fighting, 
I  can  again  speak  only  from  second  hand.  I  know 
that  we  took  a  num.ber  of  points  needed  to  hook 
up  our  new  line  of  offense,  which  had  held  out  up 
to  now,  but  the  real  attack  ended  about  the  time 
we  left.  I  believe  the  Bosches  managed  to  bring 
up  sufficient  reinforcements  to  put  across  a  series 
of  really  strenuous  counter-attacks  which  kept  us 
pretty  busy. 

The  net  result  to  us  of  the  show  I  should  sum 
up  as  follows :  We  have  found  that  the  German 
line  of  defense  is  by  no  means  impregnable,  and 
have  thrown  them  back  over  a  very  broad  front 
(2-50  miles)  an  average  distance  of  a  mile  or 
more.  We  have  learned  much  of  the  difference 
between  the  attack  on  a  point,  and  attack  made 
over  a  broad  front,  and  have  undoubtedly  discov- 
ered some  flaws  m  this  first  scheme  which  will  be 
eliminated  in  the  next  attempt.  A  simply  huge 
number  of  new  troops  have  received  their  chris- 
tening and  will  be  far  riper  and  wiser  when  they 
are  used  again. 

Of  the  other  great  simultaneous  attack  of  the 
French  in  Champagne,  It  Is  hard  to  speak  with 
certainty.  We  know  that  it  was  on  an  even  grander 
scale  than  ours,  and  that  they  broke  through  far- 
ther; also  that  they  have  held  what  they  took, 
but  that  Is  all.  Personally,  I  am  Inclined  to  be- 
lieve from  many  things  I  saw,  and  from  my  gen- 
eral impression  of  the  fighting,  that  neither  our 
own  attack,  nor  theirs,  was  pushed  home. 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT       169 

And  that  Is  all  of  the  ''Big  Show,"  as  we  call  it 
out  here,  and  I  dare  say  you  will  think  enough. 
It  has  taken  me  ten  hours  in  as  many  days  to  write 
this  letter,  and  by  the  time  you  have  each  finished 
reading  it  I  hate  to  think  of  the  total  labor  It 
will  have  entailed;  but  it  was  my  first  battle  and 
a  very  great  one,  as  history  records  such  things, 
and  for  these  reasons,  as  well  as  because  It  will 
be  quite  impossible  to  attempt  such  a  detailed  ac- 
count again,  I  have  done  the  thing  thoroughly  this 
once ;  also  I  wished  each  one  of  you  to  have  a  little 
closer  sight  into  the  work  that  is  being  carried  on 
and  the  conditions  existent  here  in  the  firing  line, 
than  you  can  get  from  the  nev/spapers.  Hence- 
forth I  shall  give  you  only  the  general  accounts 
and  personal  reports. 

The  brigade  trekked  next  morning  at  da3dight. 
We  marched  easily  for  three  days,  then  halted  at 
a  little  village  in  Belgium,  where  for  a  few  days 
we  had  a  chance  to  clean  harness  and  get  our 
horses  and  gear  into  shape.  It  was  here  that  I 
found  Ben  Woodworth  (his  cousin) .  I  knew  from 
a  letter  that  his  squad  of  the  American  Ambulance 
were  located  very  close  by,  so  the  first  morning 
that  I  took  the  horses  out  to  exercise,  I  led  away 
towards  the  place  he  had  named  in  his  letter,  and 
had  not  trotted  more  than  a  mile  and  a  half  when 
I  saw  the  little  row  of  Red  Cross  Fords  each  fly- 
ing a  pair  of  tattered  American  flags  parked  in  a 
field  alongside  the  road,  and  I  must  say  that  my 
heart  leapt  at  the  sight.  I  handed  over  the  horses 
to  my  corporal  to  take  up  the  road,  and  turned 
in  through  the  gate  to  enquire  from  a  group  of 


I70        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

half  a  dozen  boys,  "Does  anybody  here  know  Ben 
Woodworth?" 

"Why,  sure,"  came  In  dellciously  "homey"  ac- 
cents, and  then  "Oh,  Ben — here's  your  cousin." 

And  out  from  behind  a  corner  rushed  Ben,  not 
a  bit  changed,  and  positively  shrieking  with  plea- 
sure. I  jumped  off  and  we  proceeded  to  pump- 
handle  each  other  vigorously  for  further  orders 
with  all  sorts  of  exclamations  and  then  fell  to  talk- 
ing of  the  last  time  we  had  met — over  a  cracked 
crab  and  dark  beer  In  Pop  Floyd's  cafe  on  Cali- 
fornia Street,  until  the  others  shut  us  off. 

Well,  It  was  good  to  meet  a  real  relation  and 
a  pure  blood  American  again;  and  when  I  re- 
turned for  dinner  with  them  that  night,  we  stowed 
away  (the  whole  gang  I  mean)  a  case  of  cham- 
pagne and  sang  the  "Star-Spangled  Banner"  until 
they  closed  the  establishment. 

Next  night  Ben  dined  with  me,  and  we  talked 
over  old  times  and  future  prospects  more  so- 
berly. He  Is  going  home  for  a  couple  of  months' 
rest,  having  been  out  here  since  May,  and  I  have 
hopes  that  he  may  get  as  far  as  the  Coast  and  tell 
you  all  about  our  meeting.  The  American  Am- 
bulance appear  to  be  doing  splendid  work  with  the 
French,  and  six  of  their  boys  have  been  given  the 
Croix  de  Guerre  for  working  under  fire.  Vive  1' 
Amerlque!  (Poor  Benny  Woodworth  was  killed 
in  France  a  year  later.) 

The  day  following  this,  the  Captain  and  I,  to- 
gether with  a  party  of  signallers  (same  from  each 
battery  In  the  brigade)  left  on  a  journey  of  some 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT       171 

twelve  miles  to  this  front  on  the  firing  line,  for 
the  purpose  of  surveying  the  difference  in  condi- 
tions between  this  famous  salient  that  we  are  on, 
and  the  zone  of  our  last  occupation.  We  arrived 
at  the  Brigade  Headquarters  to  which  we  were  to 
be  attached  just  after  dark,  where  we  dismounted 
and  pushed  on  the  remaining  distance  to  the  bat- 
tery on  foot.  The  way  lay  through  a  city  which 
furnishes  the  only  picture  of  worse  ruin  than  poor 
old  San  Francisco,  I  have  ever  seen.  The  shell 
holes,  both  in  the  city  and  on  the  road  beyond, 
were  rarely  farther  than  twenty  yards  apart  at 
any  point,  and  on  the  whole — but  there,  I've  al- 
ready given  you  the  best  comparison  I  can — you'll 
finish  the  picture  for  yourselves. 

The  battery  entertained  us  most  lavishly  In 
their  ruined  chateau  and  we  slept  in  warm  dug- 
outs, and  next  day  I  went  forward  a  mile  through 
a  lovely  rolling  country  of  hedges,  fields  and  ca- 
nals to  the  forward  trenches.  The  station  was 
a  bad  one,  one  of  the  worst  posts  in  the  line,  in 
fact,  the  German  trenches  not  more  than  50  yards 
from  our  own,  and  when  we  fire,  our  own  shell  zips 
across  less  than  ten  feet  above  our  heads.  Don't 
dare  to  fire  anything  but  percussion  on  the  enemy's 
parapet — can't  put  a  periscope  up  for  half  a  min- 
ute without  getting  shot  at,  and  if  you  put  up 
more  than  one  they  spot  artillery  observation  and 
bomb  you ;  in  one  place  we  don't  dare  to  talk  above 
a  whisper  for  fear  of  being  bombed  from  the 
German  listening  post — less  than  fifteen  yards 
away — and  in  a  general  way  nobody  ever  lives 


172        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

for  more  than  two  weeks  in  the  salient.  Nice 
pleasant  engaging  spot! 

I  observed  a  few  rounds  and  In  the  afternoon 
we'  retired  a  few  hundred  yards  to  our  rear  dug- 
out while  our  heavies  did  a  little  ranging.  The 
Huns  Immediately  retaliated  with  5.9's.  H.  E., 
which  continued  for  two  hours,  killing  one  man 
and  wounding  four  by  burying  them  alive  within 
two  hundred  yards  of  us.  All  of  which  Is  just  by 
way  of  a  little  seasoning  of  local  color.  We  re- 
turned the  next  day  to  find  the  Brigade  moved 
again  and  had  to  retrace  half  our  steps  to  find 
'em,  but  late  at  night  we  m.ade  It. 

We  are  now  In  a  lovely  little  green  field  v>^Ith 
a  real  green  park,  lots  of  water  close  by,  and  a 
sizable  village  quarter  of  a  mile  off.  Well  within 
reach  of  the  guns,  we  are  establishing  our  wagon 
lines  here,  and  probably  permanent  winter  quar- 
ters. If  there  is  any  truth  In  report.  As  soon  as 
our  four  guns  come  back  from  ordnance  properly 
clicked  up,  we  shall  probably  go  permanently  Into 
action  on  some  point  of  the  line  five  or  six  miles 
away.  Meanwhile  we  are  harness  cleaning,  drill- 
ing to  beat  four  of  a  kind,  sprucing  things  up  gen- 
erally. Afraid  I  won't  be  able  to  get  to  see  Ben 
again. 

And  now,  just  a  word  to  reassure  you,  my 
dearest  folks,  and  to  lessen,  if  possible,  your  anx- 
iety on  my  account.  I  am  now  no  longer  untried. 
Two  weeks'  action  In  a  great  battle  Is  to  my  credit, 
and  if  my  faith  In  the  wisdom  of  my  course  or 
my  enthusiasm  for  the  cause  had  been  due  to  fail, 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       173 

It  would  have  done  so  during  that  time.  But  It 
has  only  become  stronger. 

I  find  myself  a  soldier  among  millions  of  others 
in  the  great  Allied  Armies,  fighting  for  all  I  be- 
lieve to  be  right  and  civilized  and  humane  against 
a  power  which  is  evil  and  which  threatens  the  ex- 
istence of  all  the  rights  we  prize  and  the  freedom 
we  enjoy,  although  some  of  you  in  California 
as  yet  fail  to  realize  it.  It  may  seem  to  you  that 
for  me  this  is  all  quite  uncalled  for,  that  it  can 
only  mean  either  the  supreme  sacrifice  for  noth- 
ing, or  some  of  the  best  years  of  my  life  wasted, 
but  I  tell  you  that  not  only  am  I  willing  to  give 
my  life  to  this  enterprise  (for  that  is  compara- 
tively easy,  except  when  I  think  of  you),  but  that 
I  firmly  believe  if  I  Hve  through  It  to  spend  a  use- 
ful lifetime  with  you,  that  never  will  I  have  an 
opportunity  to  gain  so  much  honorable  advance- 
ment for  my  own  soul,  or  to  do  so  much  for  the 
cause  of  the  world's  progress,  as  I  have  here  daily, 
defending  the  liberty  that  mankind  has  so  far 
gained  for  himself  against  the  attack  of  an  enemy 
who  would  deprive  us  of  it  and  set  the  world  back 
some  centuries  if  he  could  have  his  way. 

I  think  less  of  myself  than  I  did,  less  of  the 
heights  of  personal  success  that  I  aspired  to  climb, 
and  more  of  the  service  that  each  of  us  must  ren- 
der in  payment  for  the  right  to  live  and  by  virtue 
of  which,  only,  can  we  progress. 

Yes,  my  dearest  folks,  we  are  indeed  doing  the 
world's  work  over  here,  and  I  am  In  It  to  the  fin- 
ish.   *'Delenda  est  Germania !"  Is  our  faith.    "For 


174        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

God,  for  Liberty,  for  Flonor,"  the  call  that  so 
many  have  answered,  If  not  all  from  as  far  as  I. 

Back  me  up,  all  of  you,  my  nearest  and  dearest, 
and  write  to  me  often  to  show  that  you  do. 
Always  and  forever. 

Most  devotedly, 

H.  A.  B. 

Extract  from  a  Letter  Tmo  Weeks  Later: 

I  didn't  know  when  I  mailed  that,  that  it  Is 
permitted  to  mention  the  names  of  places  two 
weeks  after  any  action  named,  so  long  as  your 
own  unit  has  completely  moved  away,  but  as  all 
these  qualifications  are  fulfilled  now,  I  will  fill  In 
the  names  for  you  here.  If  the  San  Francisco 
papers  give  any  sketches  of  the  locality,  you  can 
work  it  out,  or  borrow  the  Illustrated  London 
News. 

The  first  position  of  our  battery  was  on  the  out- 
skirts of  Vermelles,  firing  on  the  zone  between 
Loos  and  Hulluch.  When  we  moved  forward 
Into  the  open,  we  were  on  the  right  (looking  to- 
ward Germany)  of  Le  Rutoir  Farm,  which  was 
the  gathering  point  and  first  dressing  station  for 
the  wounded.  The  2nd  Coldstream  Guard  trench, 
where  I  was  forward  observing  for  two  days, 
ran  about  due  north  and  south  from  Hulluch,  and 
the  point  that  I  threw  most  of  my  fire  on,  was 
the  'Wood  and  Chalk  Pit.'' 

I  think,  and  am  almost  sure,  that  you  will  be 
able  to  locate  all  of  these  places  in  the  News,  and 
you'd  better  pass  the  information  along  to  the 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       175 

family  because  it  will  be  sport  for  them  to  be  able 
to  recognise  some  of  Hab's  work  In  the  thrilling 
double  page  Illustrations  of  Mr.  A.  Ashmead- 
Bartlett,  "our  famous  war  correspondento" 


VI 

WINTER 
FIELD   CARDS 

To  Lucile, 

October   ist,   191 5. 

Dearest  Gookie, 

We  have  been  for  two  weeks  in  the  centre  of 
the  British  attack,  and  are  now  retiring  to  rest 
and  reform.  Will  write  at  great  length  in  a  few 
days. 

I  would  be  nowhere  in  the  world  but  right  here, 
dearest,  it  is  the  centre  of  the  great  fight  for  the 
freedom  of  all  of  us. 

Devotedly, 

Habs. 

To  Gus, 

Dear  Barab, 

Your  chit  in  the  round  robin  from  *'Lonely"  (a 
St.  Helena  estate)  reached  me  where  you  guessed, 
and  a  little  better,  for  I  was  sitting  in  front  of 
one  of  the  first  line  trenches  when  I  read  it,  just 
after  we  had  pushed  the  Huns  back  a  mile,  and 
I  was  "strafeing"  them  with  a  little  high  explo- 
sive, directing  fire  by  telephone.    You're  a  peach — 

Habs. 
176 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       177 
To  Lucile, 

Belgium,  October  i2,  191 5. 

Dearest, 

Your  letter  from  Fresno,  the  first  to  corae  direct 
to  the  Expeditionary  Force  address — arrived  this 
morning,  and  great  was  my  joy  thereat. 

We  are  still  resting  (?)  a  few  miles  in  rear  of 
the  firing  line  and  expect  to  establish  permanent 
winter  quarters  for  the  wagon  lines  here  but  can- 
not tell  yet  for  certain.  Will  probably  go  into 
action  again  in  a  week  or  so — permanently. 

It  is  funny  in  how  very  close  touch  with  you 
I  always  feel  myself  to  be  when  I  am  away  as 
now — and  very  much  more  so,  of  course,  since 
starting  on  active  service.  I  open  and  read  your 
letters  with  a  feeling  that  they  are  fresh  from 
your  pen  a  fev/  hours  before — and  I  answer  with 
the  idea  in  the  back  of  my  head  that  you  will  be 
reading  it  as  soon  as  you  have  time  to  sit  down 
a  minute. 

I  spend  some  minutes  of  each  day  in  the  dear 
living  room- — usually  in  the  evening  about  dinner 
time  (with  you)  but  quite  often  in  the  morning, 
so  as  to  see  Davy  drop  in.  And  very  often  I  have 
a  rov/  with  Gus  about  the  cocktails.  And  when  I 
am  sitting  in  a  totally  inadequate  dugout  under 
heavy  shell  fire,  the  only  view  point  from  which 
it  ever  occurs  to  me  to  study  the  possibility  of  a 
"direct  hit,"  is — whether  I  will  see  Mama  and 
Papa  or  you  and  Davy  first. 

Laugh   with   me,   my   dearest,    with   the   little 


178        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

chuckle  that  nobody  else  ever  had,  and  be  glad 
that  the  dear  God  has  pointed  me  my  way  so 
clearly  and  made  it  so  easy  to  follow.  And  be 
sure  too,  that  I  have  got — at  least  in  sober  mo- 
ments— that  humility  of  which  you  speak.  I  am 
not  losing  my  ambition,  but  I  am  setting  much 
less  store  by  it.  I  have  never  deceived  myself, 
nor  have  I  led  any  one  else  to  believe  that  my 
success  from  the  day  I  applied  for  my  commission 
to  the  present  minute,  when  I  howl  with  joy  to  find 
myself  a  full-fledged  section  commander  with 
a  record  of  two  weeks'  action — has  been  anything 
else  than  the  result  of  the  great  good  luck  that 
was  my  birth  gift — and  of  your  dear  prayers.  For 
although  strangers  and  friends  alike  are  kind  and 
generous  and  go  out  of  their  way  to  help  me,  bar- 
ring my  natural  tremendous  enthusiasm  and  a  cer- 
tain American  adaptability  for  any  new  kind  of  a 
job  that's  interesting — I  do  not  recognize  in  my- 
self any  sort  of  genius  or  any  of  the  other  super- 
qualities  that  some  of  the  family  are  inclined  to 
tell  me  I  possess. 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  of  all  the  jobs  I 
may  hold  down  in  the  course  of  a  long  lifetime — 
this  present  role  of  a  soldier  in  the  greatest  war 
of  all  time,  fighting  for  all  the  things  that  I  be- 
lieve to  be  good  and  honorable  and  civilised, 
against  a  power  which  I  now  know  to  be  evil,  is  the 
one  to  which  I  can  give  my  best — as  a  brother  of 
yours  should,  dearest. 

Good  night — only, 

From 

Habs. 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      179 

To  Lucile, 

23rd   of   October,    191 5. 

Dearest, 

Your  letter  from  the  Lake  (Huntington  Lake, 
Fresno)  came  two  days  ago,  and  your  remarks 
about  the  Lady  Moon  struck  very  close  to  my 
own.  It  was  dated  October  ist,  and  it  was  the 
night  before  that  you  had  your  chin  with  her; 
and  figuring  back,  I  find  that  from  four  o'clock 
onwards  on  the  morning  of  the  first — which  cor- 
responded to  eight  on  Into  the  night  of  September 
30th  with  you,  I  was  very  busy  getting  the  battery 
up,  breakfasted  and  hooked-in  by  the  old  lady's 
light — preparatory  to  trekking  of!  as  per  my  last 
^'general"  letter. 

/  also  thought  of  you — and  though  I  didn't 
know  where  you  were,  I  had  the  Idea  that  If  the 
weather  were  at  all  good  you  must  be  casting 
an  occasional  glance  up  at  the  dear  old  sentimen- 
tal orb.  So  we  saw  her  together,  dearest,  and  our 
thoughts  were  surely  twin. 

I'm  glad  you've  hit  on  the  trick — It  Is  a  thing 
I  have  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  all  my  life  when 
away;  and  many  Is  the  night — at  Beaumont,  In 
Paris,  Rome  or  off  Cape  Horn,  that  I  have  made 
love  to  her  and  made  her  look  over  the  edge  of 
the  world  and  tell  me  what  was  going  on  In  Chico, 
In  Piedmont  or  Bollnas.  And  now  we  will  do  It 
together. 

One  sentence  In  your  letter  horrifies  me  beyond 
words — the  fear  that  I  may  not  have  time  to  read 
your  very  long  letters.    Words  fall  me  when  I  at- 


i8o         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

tempt  to  frame  a  sufficiently  emphatic  denial — 
my  expression  as  I  re-read  it  would  have  been  a 
free  pass  into  a  home  for  "indignant  old  ladies." 
Don't  you  dare  send  me  short  letters — you  string 
'em  out  over  as  many  pages  as  you  can,  dearest, 
without  tiring  the  dear  little  fingers,  and  then  pad 
'em  out  with  all  the  clippings,  cartoons  and  maga- 
zine stories  you  can  lay  your  hand  on.  So  keep 
up  the  pace,  dearest,  and  make  the  others  write 
too. 

My  medal  keeps  me  safe — it  is  a  piece  of  you, 
my  real  guardian  angel.  I  have  taken  it  off  of  the 
pin  and  bound  it  on  to  Amy  Long's  identification 
disc  around  my  neck. 

Give  Carey  a  kiss  for  me  next  time  she  comes. 
What  a  true  hearted  old  darling  she  is !  Regards 
also  to  "Jim"  (the  gardener)  and  a  friendly 
squeeze  to  "Joe"  (the  Chinese  cook). 

Devotedly, 

Habs. 


To  E.  C.  O'S, 


British  Expeditionary  Force, 

2nd   November,    1915. 


Dearest  Stepmother, 

You  surely  are  a  "Peach"  to  come  through  with 
such  a  parcel  as  arrived  to-day!  Figs  and  choc- 
olate I  have  feasted  on  all  day,  and  this  evening 
for  dinner — ''Beanos''! — I  could  hear  the  Star 
Spangled  Banner  playing  when  the  dish  was 
brought  in;  the  cafe  an  lait  I  am  going  to  sample 
in  the  early  mornings,  by  the  aid  of  "Tommy's" 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       i8i 

cooker,  and  the  pudding  will  crown  next  Sunday's 
dinner. 

We  are  still  sitting  in  reserve,  that  is  to  say — 
sometimes  sitting.  The  rains  have  set  in  and  that 
marvel  of  nature,  known  as  spontaneous  genera- 
tion of  mud,  has  taken  place  in  large  quantities. 
We  are  building  concrete  horse  standings  and  huts 
for  the  men  as  quickly  as  the  material  is  given 
(or  we  can  steal  it)  but  meanwhile  things  are  bad. 

Not  much  "Strafeing"  lately,  in  fact  the  last 
few  weeks  have  been  almost  monotonous.  How- 
ever: 

Every  day  that  passes, 

Filling  out  the  year, 
Leaves  the  wicked  Kaiser, 

Harder  up  for  beer. 

— as  the  Belgian  Mother  Goose  Rhyme  goes. 
Best  love  to  the  "Kids."    I'm  for  the  hay. 
Bon  Soir, 

Henri. 

To  Lucile. 

7th  of  November,    1915. 

Dearest, 

I  know  I've  let  a  long  while  go  by,  but  it  has 
been  raining  to  beat  four  of  a  kind  and  I've  been 
busy  as  a  bird  dog  trying  to  keep  up  construction 
on  my  horse  standings  and  not  let  'em  get 
swamped. 

The  maple  syrup  and  sugar  came  four  days  ago 
and  I  have  been  gorging  ever  since — it  was  per- 
fectly luscious. 


i82        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

You  know  by  now,  of  course,  that  you  identified 
Loos  Towers  quite  correctly  from  my  letter.  Our 
position  was  in  front  of  Vermelles  and  later  to  the 
right  of  "le  Rutoir  farm."  The  "Chalk  Pit"  and 
"Wood"  of  which  I  spoke  are  now  already  famous 
by  the  same  names. 

"The  Tide"  was  surely  a  treat!  I  wouldn't 
have  missed  it  for  a  thousand  dollars.  (This  was 
a  story  in  which  the  Placerville  hold-up  for  speed- 
ing was  employed.)  Of  course  Stewart  Edward 
White  missed  my  meaning  in  the  original  inci- 
dent and  also  in  the  copy,  but  I  was  glad  he  was 
so  generous  as  to  make  me  out  a  decent  sort  of 
a  chap  after  all.  If  you  ever  see  him,  you  can 
tell  him  that  I  said  "Thank  you"  mentally  and 
called  the  score  square  when  I  read  it. 

The  Saturday  Evening  Post  and  Life  are  al- 
ready taking  second  place  to  your  letters  as  the 
greatest  joy  of  my  life  here.  I  wonder  if  you 
can  conceive  what  they  mean  to  me.     Try. 

We  go  into  action  to-morrow  again,  thank  God, 
and  I've  got  to  work  out  our  zones  of  fire  now, 
as  the  Captain's  away,  so  "so-long,"  dearest,  for 
a  few  days. 

Devotedly, 

Habs. 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       183 

To  Liicile. 

Forward  Observing  Station, 
Fire  Trench, 
9th  of  November,  1915. 

Dearest, 

Your  long  and  scrumptious  letter  of  the  26th  of 
October  was  brought  up  to  me  this  morning  with 
my  rations  and  I  have  enjoyed  it  five  distinct  times 
during  the  day,  within  eighty  yards  of  the  terrible 
Huns,  who  would  gnash  their  teeth  with  rage  and 
strafe  my  trench  for  half  an  hour,  If  they  had  an 
inkling  that  one  of  the  hated  Anglo-Saxons  had 
the  "nerve"  to  be  so  full  of  glee  within  range  of 
their  frightfulnesses.  Excuse  me  while  I  draw 
breath  for  the  next  sentence 

Three  days  ago  we  got  orders  to  relieve  another 
battery  that  was  in  action  about  six  miles  from  our 
wagon  lines,  so  after  the  Captain  and  Humphrey 
had  gone  up  and  reconnoitred  the  position,  I 
brought  the  right  section  (my  two  guns)  up  the 
same  night  and  took  over  their  gun  pits.  The  next 
night  Baxter  brought  up  his  section  and  my  Cap- 
tain assumed  command. 

It  Is  a  very  pretty  place  we  are  In — broad 
wooded  grounds  of  a  big  chateau — with  a  couple 
of  other  batteries  nearby.  The  chateau  Itself 
was,  of  course,  knocked  into  a  ruin  long  ago,  but 
the  lovely  grounds  remain  and  afford  good  cover 
— also  a  hard  paved  road  leads  up  to  the  door — 
a  great  asset  In  winter  when  we  have  to  bring  up 
our  ammunition  from  the  wagon  lines  six  miles  off 
— for  the  whole  district  has  already — with  only 
the  start  of  the  winter  rains — turned  to  mud. 


1 84         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

The  gun  emplacements  were,  of  course,  ready 
made  for  us — although  there  Is  lots  of  room  for 
improvement,  and  as  this  is  a  very  old  position, 
the  dugouts,  sleeping  quarters  and  mess  are  quite 
decent,  though  a  bit  leaky  and  also  in  need  of  re- 
pair. 

Same  place,  2  days  later. 

Sorry  I  had  to  leave  it  so  long,  dearest,  but  my 
relief  officer  came  along  at  that  minute  and  I  had 
to  show  him  300  yards  of  trench  with  the  different 
observation  posts,  telephone  lines,  targets  within 
the  German  lines,  etc.,  and  by  the  time  I  had  fin- 
ished, it  was  dark  and  time  to  return  to  the  bat- 
tery. 

I  mess,  when  forward  here,  with  one  of  the 
companies  of  the  Royal  Fusiliers  in  a  snug  dugout 
In  the  fire  trench.  The  company  commander.  Cap- 
tain Goodlifie,  is  a  great  pal  of  Sydney  Cloman's 
and  has  also  met  Uncle  Charhe — one  of  the  old 
South  African  crowd — and  a  fine  fellow.  I  make 
the  fifth  at  table  (and  occasionally  at  poker)  and 
we  have  an  uproarious  time.  Also  he  has  a  per- 
fectly lovely  hole  about  thirty  feet  deep  that  we 
drop  into  when  a  big  strafe  commences. 

We  have  had  three  days  of  rain  with  all  the 
roofs  leaking  and  floors  flooded.  The  trenches 
are  holding  well,  however,  and  to-day  is  glorious. 

Two  things  I  neglected  to  answer  out  of  your 
letter  before  last — ist,  the  story  of  Kaiser  Bill  and 
Albert  the  Brave  at  the  gate  of  Heaven  was  de- 
lightful.    The   Kaiser's   answer  is  more  or  less 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       185 

obvious,  but  the  denouement  of  the  unfolding  cross 
as  Albert's  portion  is  great. 

It  is  his  birthday  to-day,  by  the  way,  so  this 
morning  we  strafed  hell  out  of  the  Bosch  for  a 
few  minutes  just  by  way  of  a  reminder  that  the 
interest  on  his  note  to  Belgium  is  due — and  that 
the  day  when  we  must  collect  the  principal  in  full 
draws  ever  nearer. 

Second  point  I  forgot  to  answer — damn  it,  I 
can't  remember  it  now  either. 

I  was  surely  tickled  to  death  that  the  pictures 
came  and  were  satisfactory.  The  horse,  "Dick," 
is  a  black  beggar,  with  an  exact  duplicate  in  dis- 
position of  "Little  Billee"  that  we  gave  to  the 
Madames. 

He  puts  back  his  ears  at  me  whenever  I  come 
near  him,  kicks  me  (gently)  whenever  he  has 
the  chance,  and  then  laughs  at  me.  Then,  when 
I  bang  him  over  the  head  for  it,  becomes  fright- 
fully humble  and  apologetic.  In  other  words,  he's 
an  awful  liar,  a  horrible  bluff,  but  a  very  great 
dear. 

In  the  second  picture,  I  told  him  to  "look  up  for 
Gookie"  as  I'd  taught  him,  and  you  can  see  he 
obeyed  orders  very  nicely. 

He  had  an  awfully  bad  name  in  the  Divisional 
Ammunition  Column,  where  no  one  wanted  him, 
so  that  I  originally  took  him  to  save  another  chap 
who  didn't  want  to  ride  him  at  Salisbury  Plain.  I 
found  him  a  thoroughbred  (Kentucky)  whose  dis- 
position had  been  spoiled  by  bad  handling,  and  set 
about  to  coax  him  out  of, his  grouch — and  suc- 
ceeded so  well  that  I  carried  him  along  with  me 


1 86         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

through  my  two  transfers  and  made  him  my  first 
charger. 

About  the  Christmas  Box.  Send  anything  you 
like,  dearest,  and  don't  try  to  make  it  too  large. 

The  cigarettes  have  failed  to  show  up,  but  to- 
bacco is  always  terribly  slow  in  coming,  so  I've  no 
doubt  time  will  produce  it. 

No  time  for  more  now,  dearest.  I've  simply 
got  to  get  off  an  answer  to  Thomas'  last  because 
the  crazy  Chinaman  worries  when  he  has  to  wait 
more  than  ten  days. 

Fondest  love, 

Habs. 

(Tom,  Tommy,  or  Thomas,  always  means  Mr. 
Thomas  Evans;  "crazy  Chinaman"  a  term  of  en- 
dearment.) 


26th  November,  191 5. 

Dear  Stepmother, 

The  gorgeous  package  arrived  to-day,  also  your 
postcard.  Thank  Heavens  my  letter  of  two  days 
ago  will  be  an  alibi  against  the  charge  that  I  only 
write  in  reply  to  parcels.  Did  you  make  the  hot 
cakes?  Had  two  Canadians  to  lunch  and  we  pol- 
ished off  the  whole  lot — hot,  with  butter,  and  lux- 
ury of  luxuries — hot  maple  syrup.  The  corn 
formed  the  first  vegetable  course  and  was  posi- 
tively lovely;  I've  just  thought  that  if  you  can 
get  Campbell's  tomato  soup  it  would  be  nice — 
but  nothing  could  top  the  corn.  I'm  saving  the 
Huntley  &  Palmer  biscuits  for  the  road,  but  am 
chewing  a  raisin  right  now. 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       187 

Will  you  give  my  best  to  Mr.  Garvin  and  tell 
him  that  the  Observer  has  rolled  up  for  the  last 
two  Sundays  In  good  style — I  am  writing  to  thank 
him. 

We  are  on  our  way  to  "rest"  billets,  as  per  last 
letter,  and  marched  last  night  from  six  p.  m.  to 
five  this  morning — perfectly  glorious  moon;  I 
bought  a  bottle  of  "fizz"  on  the  way  and  enjoyed 
the  thing.  "Leave"  will  be  soon,  I  imagine. 
Best  love  from 

Harry. 


To  Lucile. 

2nd  of  December,  1915. 

Dearest, 

I  returned  to  the  battery  in  action  a  couple  of 
days  after  I  last  wrote,  taking  with  me  a  young 
Canadian — the  most  Yankee  specimen  In  the  Brit- 
ish Army — whom  I  had  great  delight  in  showing 
round  the  forward  trenches  for  the  next  four  days. 
As  he  was  a  most  curious  young  devil — Insisted  on 
seeing  everything — and  would  poke  his  large  and 
brilliant  periscope  up  over  the  parapet  right  along- 
side of  mine  every  time  I  did  any  shooting — he 
drew  quite  a  number  of  rounds  of  German  high 
explosive  onto  my  Innocent  head  and  secured  his 
christening  in  fine  style.  Aside  from  that,  his 
coming  has  been  like  a  breath  of  heaven  to  me. 

On  the  25th  we  moved  out,  and  in  the  next  three 
days  proceeded  sixty  miles  to  the  rear,  where  we 
are  now  resting — the  whole  Division — for  about 
a  month  or  until  we're  needed  again. 


i88         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

In  to-night's  orders  I  find  myself  posted  to 
''C"  Battery  from  "D."  My  new  Battery  com- 
mander is  a  Canadian,  about  thirty  years  old  and 
I  believe  a  good  man.  Will  tell  you  later.  The 
sooner  we  get  back  in  action  again,  the  better  Til 
be  pleased. 

Night,  night,  dearest, 

Habs. 


To  E.  C.  O'S, 

4th   December,    1915. 

Dear  Stepmother, 

I  expect  my  leave  will  come  early  in  January 
(D.  V.)  but  will  be  back  in  action  for  Christmas 
with  any  luck  at  all. 

I've  been  transferred  to  another  battery  in  the 
same  brigade — it's  even  better  here — and  will  tell 
you  all  about  it  before  long. 

Will  you  please,  please,  please  go  to  *  *  *'s 
and  strafe  the  brutes  from  H — 1  to  breakfast? 
They'll  dig  up  reams  of  correspondence  for  you 
in  their  office  which  I've  sent  them  in  a  vain  ef- 
fort to  get  them  to  send  me  my  tobacco  regularly 
— which  they  consistently  fail  to  do — One  pound 
of  Blackwell's  "Bull  Durham"  and  one-half  pound 
of  "Dill's  Best  Granulated"  are  what  I  want  sent 
me  on  the  25th  of  each  month  (November  still 
to  come)  and  I  don't  care  a  tinker's  d — m  whether 
I  have  to  pay  duty  or  not,  I  want  my  smokes  and 
I  want  'em  quick  and  regular  and  I  want  'em  bad. 
Dear  stepmother,  won't  you  please  fix  it  up  for 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       189 

me — I   can't  write   any  more  to  those  brutes — 
words  fail. 

Fondest  love  to  the  kids, 

Most  affectionately, 

Harry. 


To  Lucile.    For  Davy  too. 

In  Rest  Billets, 
6th  of  December,  191 5. 

Dearest, 

I'm  awfully  tickled  to  hear  about  the  Christmas 
boxes  and  as  near  as  I  can  tell  they  will  arrive  just 
at  the  right  time — because  (D.  V.)  we'll  leave 
our  rest  billets  about  the  19th  or  20th,  and  be 
back  settled  in  action  again  in  some  part  of  the 
line  by  Christmas  day — which  is  just  where  I  want 
to  be,  and  I'll  drink  your  health  from  the  front 
line  where  it  will  do  the  most  good,  dearest. 

I  was  quite  sure  you'd  try  to  send  me  more 
money  sooner  or  later,  but  the  truth  is,  dearest, 
that  I  decided  some  time  ago  to  live  within  my  pay. 
It  was  a  new  idea  for  me — I've  never  seriously 
considered  it  before — always  having  had  more  or 
less  to  spend  and  taking  great  joy  in  the  spending 
of  it;  besides  detesting  anything  in  the  nature  of 
small  economies. 

But  after  coming  over  to  England  and  blowing 
in  what  I  had  on  hand  in  a  week  or  two,  and  then 
all  of  the  £100  Davy  and  you  sent  me,  I  just  de- 
cided It  was  about  time  to  drop  it.  So  drop  it 
I  did. 

I  came  out  a  little  bit  short  as  to  kit  and  with 


I90        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

an  overdraft  at  Cox  &  Co.'s  (Army  pay  agents) 
of  thirty  days  to  work  off — but  this  debt  had  piled 
up  before  I  put  on  the  brakes.  Since  then  I've 
made  up  the  deficiencies  in  kit,  lived  well  for  three 
months  and  this  month's  statement  shows  me  £17 
on  the  right  side  of  the  page.  Of  course  it's  easy 
to  save  on  active  service,  and  I  can  provide  all  my 
wants,  and  out  of  my  twenty  odd  pounds  a  month, 
pay  and  allowances,  save  ten  or  close  to  it  against 
a  passage  from  Liverpool  to  San  Francisco  Bay 
via  the  Panama  Canal — which  (always,  D.  V.) 
will  one  day  roll  around  as  an  immediate  necessity, 
however  distant  it  may  appear  at  present. 

So,  it  is  essential  that  I  learn  this  age  old  game 
of  economy  right  away  and  become  proficient  in  it 
during  the  duration  of  the  war. 

So  much  for  that,  dear,  and  you'll  realize  from 
it  that  I  am  well  off  and  not  in  need  of  funds  ever 
any  more — bar  accidents.  Also  you'll  read  it  to 
Davy,  who  will  grin  and  say,  "I  told  you  so" — 
and  you  can  answer  him,  "Well,  so  did  I !" 

The  last  paragraph  reminds  me  that  it  is  the 
first  time  I've  spoken  to  you  of  going  into  the  serv- 
ice of  our  own  dear  country  for  good,  if  I  return 
with  the  necessary  complement  of  legs  and  arms 
to  be  acceptable  to  the  War  Department.  The 
first  time  I've  spoken  of  it,  I  say,  but  I've  no  doubt 
you've  had  it  in  mind  for  as  long  as  I  have,  as  the 
natural  outcome  of  all  this.  And  now  that  the 
matter  has  drifted  into  this  letter,  I'll  give  it  a 
page  or  two  and  you  remember  to  answer  me  at 
decent  length  just  how  you  feel  about  it. 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       191 

You  see,  dearest,  the  thing  Is  that  I  feel  that 
rm  going  to  make  a  pretty  good  soldier — I  don't 
know  whether  my  letters  have  given  a  truthful  Idea 
of  what  my  work  here  means  to  me — not  the  first 
enthusiasm  of  my  commission  and  the  novelty  of 
the  long  training — but  the  real  work  of  active 
service. 

I  don't  mean  the  actual  killing  and  destruction 
— in  artillery  work  it  is  the  great  exception  to  fire 
at  a  live  target,  and  one  which  I  haven't  dealt 
with  at  all,  In  sight,  as  yet — I  mean  the  other  90 
per  cent  of  soldiering.  I  can  only  tell  you  most 
earnestly  that  It  means  more  to  me  than  anything 
I've  had,  or  looked  forward  to,  before. 

You  knew  when  I  left  that  I  was  due  for  a 
change  in  my  ideas — well.  It  Isn't  complete  yet,  but 
the  situation  is  developing,  as  the  military  writers 
say.  I've  already  spoken  of  some  of  these  things, 
particularly  concerning  my  Ideas  in  regard  to  in- 
comes and  money  In  general.  I  have  rid  myself 
of  the  idea  that  wealth — or  the  luxuries  and  plea- 
sures that  wealth  gives — can  give  me  any  happi- 
ness. They  can't.  On  the  other  hand,  I  don't 
idealise  the  grind  of  unceasing  work.  I  believe 
that  the  hon  Dieu  means  a  man  to  have  just  as 
much  leisure  and  happiness  as  is  good  for  him,  but 
he  must  earn  the  right  to  it,  and  It  seems  to  me 
that  the  man  who  most  nearly  keeps  his  appreci- 
ation of  the  good  things  constantly  keen,  is  he  who 
stands  In  a  position  on  guard,  as  It  were,  on  one  of 
the  Lord's  good  works — his  Church  or  his  Coun- 
try for  example — where  the  knowledge  that  he  will 
one  day — may  any  day — be  called  to  drop  them  all 


192         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

and  lay  his  life  on  the  knees  of  his  God,  as  he  takes 
the  field  against  the  enemy  who  would  destroy  it — ■ 
keeps  his  courage  fast,  and  his  heart  humble. 

One  is  inclined  to  say  that  a  soldier's  life  in 
time  of  peace  is  a  nice,  laz)^,  gentlemanly  sort  of 
existence — that  doesn't  hold  much  ambition  or  real 
purpose  and  to  a  certain  extent  I  suppose  the  in- 
dictment is  justified.  But  we  know  that  the  world 
has  by  no  means  arrived  at  a  practice  of  the 
Golden  Rule — that  hatred,  ambition  and  greed 
rumble  deep  in  the  hearts  of  other  powers  than 
Germany  (I  speak  particularly  of  the  Far  East) 
and  one  day  this  fair  United  States  of  ours,  where 
the  whiteness  of  our  skins  and  all  that  goes  with 
it,  no  less  than  the  fat  acres  and  golden  hills  that 
are  our  possessions,  all  offer  a  fair  target  for  the 
ambitions  of  a  people  that  love  us  not  too  well — 
will  have  to  face  the  Pentecost  of  Calamity  (as 
Owen  Wister  puts  it)  and  defend  herself  against 
a  powerful  enemy. 

She  will  not  be  prepared — no  nation  ever  is, 
except  the  one  that  plans  aggression — and  for  her 
failure  to  take  the  stand  she  owes  civilisation  to- 
day, she  will  have  to  stand  alone.  And  in  that 
hour  she  will  need  her  army  and  navy  and  "need 
'em  bad" — to  throw  themselves  into  the  breach 
and  pay  the  price,  as  the  original  Expeditionary 
Force  did  in  the  retreat  from  Mons.  A  couple  of 
thousand  lives  a  day  for  the  first  month  or  two  or 
three  that  she  takes  to  collect  her  reserves  and 
start  the  training  of  the  great  citizen  army  that 
must  win  back  the  lost  ground  and  drive  off  the 
invader. 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      193 

And  If  it's  on  the  cards  that  I'm  still  to  have  my 
life  ahead  of  me,  after  the  present  struggle,  I  want 
to  be  there  when  it  happens. 

I  feel  I  will  bring  full  value  to  my  country  at 
the  start — the  experience  of  a  year  or  more's  ac- 
tive service  in  this,  the  great  war,  will  count  for 
much,  where  but  a  bare  handful  of  our  own  offi- 
cers have  been  sent  to  watch  it,  and  Uncle  Sam 
will  need  it. 

Your  tale  of  Sister  Carmelita  was  quite  wonder- 
ful— I  remember  her  well  and  you  must  give  her 
my  love  when  you  see  her.  I've  not  the  slightest 
doubt  that  she  stood  by  me  at  a  bad  time,  which 
Mother  would  certainly  have  known  all  about — 
for  it  was  the  middle  of  the  battle  of  Loos,  where 
I  was  under  fairly  constant  and  heavy  fire  for 
about  eight  days. 

And  this  must  be  all  for  to-night,  dearest.  It's 
very  late  and  I'm  orderly  officer  to-morrow,  bright 
and  early,  though  later  I'm  riding  into  town  to 
do  a  day's  shopping. 

The  reason  of  this  particular  letter,  as  you'll 
see  at  the  top,  is  to  greet  you  on  Christmas  morn- 
ing, as  yours  will  greet  me — and  then  it's  all  for 
Davy  too,  and  you'll  read  it  together. 

Make  it  a  merry  one,  my  dearest  hearts,  I  will 
be  happy  too,  and  you  must  have  only  joy  and 
thanks  for  the  blessed  fact  that  I  am  where  I  am. 

Fondest,  fondest  love,  from  your  devoted 

Habs. 


194        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

In  Rest  Billets, 
15  December,  1915. 

Dearest, 

From  my  last  letter  your  fears  re  my  clothing 
will  already  be  lulled.  I  don't  mean  fears,  really 
— perhaps  I'd  better  say  your  query  answered.  In 
spite  of  the  economy  that  I'm  practising,  I  have 
not  skimped  my  kit.  None  of  your  "cheap  John" 
stuff  for  Habs — 3  suits  of  Dr.  Jaegers'  three  star, 
20-years-in-the-wood  underwear  form  the  first  cov- 
ering of  my  nakedness  (one  suit  at  a  time,  of 
course)  and  as  for  washing — the  indigenous 
"blanchisseuse"  does  the  trick  when  we're  out  of 
action,  and  the  mending  as  well — and  when  we're 
in  the  line,  my  servant  takes  unto  himself  the  du- 
ties of  washerwoman  at  least  one  day  in  the  week. 
As  for  the  last  item  in  your  query,  soap — if  you 
will  have  the  truth,  dearest,  I  must  confess  to  a 
cake  of  "Azurea"  at  least  once  a  fortnight.  The 
greatest  soldiers  have  had  their  little  failings,  and 
in  my  scheme  of  cheap  living,  this  is  the  exception 
that  makes  it  humanly  possible  of  attainment. 

The  Captain  has  gone  on  leave  for  eight  days 
in  England.  Did  I  tell  you  mine  may  not  come 
until  February,  owing  to  the  order  being  switched 
to  seniority  of  commission  instead  of  time  in  ac- 
tion. I  should  worry!  My  new  battery  is  very 
nearly  the  smartest  battery  in  the  Division — cer- 
tainly the  smartest  in  the  brigade. 

It  looks  now  as  though  we  might  not  go  back 
into  action  until  after  Christmas.     A  disappoint- 
ment if  it's  so — but  not  anything  to  cry  about. 
Fondest,  dearest  love,  Har<5 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT       195 
To  Luetic. 

F.  O.  O.  Dugout, 
Infantry  Battalion  Hdqtrs., 

4th  of  January,   1916. 

Dearest, 

Christmas  day  was  absolutely  the  most  prosaic- 
ally miserable  that  I  can  Imagine.  It  simply  failed 
to  be  anything  at  all.  We  were  still  in  rest  camp 
and  did  not  know  when  we'd  leave. 

In  the  afternoon  I  got  orders  to  leave  at  4.30 
A.  M.  the  next  morning  with  an  advance  party  to 
take  over  wagon  lines.  This  order  was  cancelled 
at  one  A.  M. 

There's  nothing  to  tell  you  about  the  day — it 
was  simply  not  Christmas,  that's  all.  Neither 
Christmas  nor  New  Year  happened  for  me  at  all 
this  season,  and  I  am  glad  that  the  time  when 
they  usually  do  happen  has  rolled  over  my  head, 
and  that  we  are  all  bursting  into  1 9 1 6.  More  than 
all  am  I  glad  to  be  back  in  the  firing  line  on  the 
job — where  I  can  again  get  on  with  my  work  and 
increase  my  efficiency  as  an  artillery  officer — also 
where  there  is  something  to  write  about. 

It  isn't  that  I  didn't  enjoy  the  time  in  the  rest 
area,  for  I  did— thoroughly.  I  lazed  around,  took 
long  rides,  ate  a  lot,  slept  more— enjoyed  the 
piano  and  the  mess  and  had  a  bully  time  for  a 
month,  and  then  in  the  course  of  about  a  day, 
the  whole  thing  got  on  my  nerves,  and  I  was  fed 
up  to  the  teeth  with  it.  (I've  got  a  hunch  that  by 
the  time  I  get  to  the  end  of  this  letter,  I'll  be  in 
a  simply  glorious  humor,  but  I  haven't  worked  off 
all  the  grievances  yet — so  be  patient.) 


196        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

I  must  break  the  thing  with  one  spot  of  sun- 
light though — I  said  there  was  no  Christmas  Day 
for  me,  and  there  wasn't,  but  there  was  a  Christ- 
mas Eve  and  I  went  to  a  darling  little  village 
church  in  Acquin  to  one  of  the  prettiest  midnight 
masses  I  ever  remember.  It  was  pretty  nigh  per- 
fect, and  I  said  it  all  for  you  and  Davy,  although 
I  mentioned  a  couple  of  others  just  for  a  minute. 
I  knew  you  were  thinking  of  me  the  whole  time, 
and  after  "Noel"  was  sung,  I  walked  home  under 
the  dear  old  moon,  that  was  rising  (quite  unob- 
trusively in  the  afternoon)  over  Piedmont. 

None  of  your  Christmas  boxes  have  come,  dear- 
est— now  don't  feel  bad.  I  wouldn't  have  had 
them  arrive  for  that  imitation  twenty-fifth  of  De- 
cember for  anything. 

We  are  comfortably  settled  here  in  action  now 
for  a  month  or  two,  and  this  is  where  I  am  really 
looking  forward  to  getting  'em.  Stepmother  is 
looking  them  up  and  although  I  am  not  at  all  im- 
patient about  them,  I  am  looking  forward  to  the 
sport  of  going  over  those  three  carloads  of  loving 
remembrances  with  all  sorts  of  pleasure. 

How  I  love  you,  dearest — that  heart  of  gold  of 
yours  is  the  centre  of  the  magic  circle  of  the 
friends  of  my  life — how  I  thank  the  Lord  for  it 
— and  for  the  ones  that  are  grouped  about  it. 
Davy,  Erny,  Carey,  Thomas — those  aren't  all, 
but  they  are  among  the  dearest.  And  how  the 
others  are  shown  up  alongside  them.  The  sur- 
roundings under  which  I  have  now  been  living 
for  some  time  are  not  such  as  to  encourage  the 
keeping  up  of  any  illusions.     One  thinks  a  good 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT       197 

deal  in  spare  moments  and  one  comes  to  realise 
that  he  has  certain  ties  in  life  that  are  spun  of 
the  stuff  that  makes  for  immortality.  These  ties 
bind  him  to  the  friends  that  God  has  given  him, 
and  these  friends  form  the  sum  total  of  his  wealth 
outside  himself — the  souls  that  really  count  for 
him. 

By  the  same  token  he  comes  to  realise  that  there 
are  some  others  whose  claims  on  him  appear,  un- 
der ordinary  circumstances,  to  be  quite  solid  and 
would  stand  in  any  court  of  law  or  in  the  opinion 
of  his  contemporaries,  who  would  all  be  shocked 
to  see  him  break  them — ^but  here,  the  brute  has 
had  the  luck  to  face  realities  In  terms  of  life  and 
death  and  suffering,  and  when  some  day  one  of 
these  cases  comes  to  his  mind,  he  is  surprised  to 
find  that  he  has  been  fooled  all  along  and  that  the 
individuals  with  whom  he  was  on  such  friendly 
terms  are  not  really  his  friends  at  all,  and  that 
regardless  of  blood  or  money,  he  is  utterly  indif- 
ferent to  anything  they  may  ever  say  or  do  or 
leave  undone  or  have  happen  to  them.  They  have 
for  him  precisely  the  same  significance  as  a  large, 
round  O. 

I  love  my  new  Battery  and  my  Captain  is  a  hell 
of  a  good  fellow.  We  are  playing  a  lot  of  chess 
and  dominoes  in  between  actions. 

Fondest  love  from  Habs. 

Which  is  what  my 
boys  put  to  their 
best  girls.     I 
love  to  censor 
the  letters. 


198        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 
To  Lucile, 

7th  of  January,  1916. 

Dearest, 

I've  just  been  re-reading  your  last  darling  letter 
and  writing  numerous  comments  on  the  back  of  the 
different  pages  before  sending  it  on  (carefully  cen- 
sored) to  Thomas.  That  new  Igloo  makes  me 
positively  howl  with  joy,  and  on  the  back  of  the 
plan  I've  sworn  Thomas  to  a  suicide  pact — that 
if  I  get  killed,  he  swallows  prussic  acid  at  once 
and  follows  me  to  the  Golden  Portals,  where  we 
will  make  formal  application  to  Father  Peter  im- 
mediately for  regular  week  end  "Ghost  leave,"  so 
that  we  may  run  down  and  inspect  it.  The  first 
visit  will  probably  be  given  over  to  "criticising  it," 
but  any  Saturday  night  after  that,  when  you  may 
happen  to  be  sleeping  there,  if  you  should  be  dis- 
turbed by  noisy  discussions  of  the  "holy  martyrs" 
and  awakening,  catch  a  strong  whiff  of  "Spirits  of 
Anderson  County,"  you  will  not  be  afraid,  because 
you  will  know  it  is  only  one  of  our  regular  visits. 
— And  speaking  of  the  "holy  martyrs" — you  can 
invite  Father  George  (Fr.  Lacombe)  over  for  the 
next  return,  to  get  som.e  valuable  hints  which  we 
ought,  by  then,  to  be  able  to  give  him  at  first  hand. 

You  see,  dear — /  made  the  Igloo  and  now 
you^ve  added  to  it,  and  I  simply  can't  put  up  with 
the  idea  of  not  having  a  look  at  the  new  arrange- 
ment. 

I'm  doing  a  little  looting  here  on  your  account, 
and  when  I  go  on  leave  I'll  try  to  send  you  some 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       199 

of  the  stuff — one  or  two  pieces  of  brass — a  fuse 
maybe,  and  such  like  junk. 

Herewith  a  medal  I  picked  up,  which  I  think 
will  please  you  Immensely.  I  can't  bless  It,  but  I 
have  kissed  It — for  you. 

Fondest  love,  dearest, 

Habs. 

P.  S.  The  medal,  you  will  see.  Is  Notre  Dame 
de  Lourdes.  Mother  always  did  consider  water 
of  Lourdes  her  one  best  bet — and  I  know  your 
devotion  to  the  One  who  showed  Herself  to  Ber- 
nadette  will  make  you  love  It. 


To  Lucile. 

20th  of  January,    1916. 

Dearest  Gookie, 

The  last  two  weeks  have  been  a  busy  time — so 
busy  that  but  for  a  few  post  cards  and  a  bundle 
of  forwardlngs  to  Tom,  I  haven't  written  a  line. 

The  trouble  was  that  when  we  came  Into  action 
here,  we  took  over  about  the  rottenest  wagon  lines 
and  battery  position  In  the  salient — which  Is  going 
some.  The  latter — under  the  able  and  strenuous 
command  of  the  Sergeant  Major,  have  been  pretty 
well  cleaned  up  and  redecorated — that  Is  to  say, 
where  we  found  only  a  complete  and  abominable 
sea  of  mud,  there  have  now  arisen  (permanently) 
various  solid  comparatively  dry  Islands  for  the 
horse  standings,  harness  rooms,  huts,  etc.,  all  con- 
nected by  sturdy  little  Isthmuses  so  that  the  place 
Is  quite  livable  and  workable. 


200        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

But  alas  for  the  guns !  For  on  the  Sunday  after 
we  came  in,  the  wind  showing  signs  of  shifting 
into  the  dangerous  quarter  for  gas,  we  were  com- 
pelled to  do  some  shooting  on  the  front  line — 
having  discovered  that  our  predecessors  had 
handed  us  over  a  false  register  which  was  far 
too  long.  It  was  a  fine  clear  day,  and  the  enemy's 
damned  old  sausage  balloon  was  up  in  plain  view, 
but  we  had  to  risk  it.    Of  course,  we  were  spotted. 

Spotted  dead — and  just  as  we  were  finishing 
luncheon,  the  first  of  the  six-inch  stuff  began  to 
arrive.  I  walked  out  to  the  corner  of  the  street 
(the  mess  is  about  150  yards  from  the  guns)  and 
they  surely  were  piling  'em  in. 

There  being  no  case  of  violent  necessity,  we 
called  the  men  on  duty  out  of  the  central  dugout 
— one  at  a  time  on  the  run — until  they  were  all 
clear  and  no  casualties  and  retired  to  watch  the 
show  from  a  safe  distance.  In  about  a  minute  there 
was  a  direct  hit  on  No.  4  gun  emplacement  and 
after  a  few  more  rounds  the  old  Bosch  "ceased 
firing" — he  had  us  registered! 

The  situation  was  now  roughly  this :  as  long  as 
we  remained  in  action  in  that  spot  we  would  have 
to  put  up  with  a  desultory  shelling  of  anything 
up  to  a  dozen  rounds  daily — with  the  added 
knowledge  that  any  time  he  pleased  the  old  Bosch 
could  turn  his  battery  loose  and  wipe  the  whole 
place  out.  And  to  make  it  even  more  objection- 
able, it  was  a  mortal  cinch  that  the  wily  old  bird 
would  not  play  the  card  until  he  caught  us  in  the 
middle  of  the  next  strafe  defence — when  we  would 
have  to  stick  to  the  guns  and  fire  'em  until  the 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      201 

whole  battery  was  knocked  out.     Can  you  beat  it? 

The  obvious  answer  Is  on  your  tongue — move ! 
And  just  what  we  had  to  do,  but  It  Isn't  nearly 
so  simple  as  It  sounds.  A  battery  position  in  this 
semi-siege  warfare  Is  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
a  small  collection  of  young  forts.  Four  for  the 
guns  and  the  central  control  and  telephone  dugout 
Is  the  least  you  can  do  with,  and  as  each  one  is 
a  sizeable  affair — say  12x15  Inside  and  about 
30x30  when  it's  all  sloped  off  on  the  outside — 
walls  varying  from  two  to  eight  feet  in  thickness 
and  according  to  the  latest  order,  2  stories  high 
so  as  to  stand  shell  burst — there  is  several  days' 
hard  labor  concerned  In  the  construction.  Take 
into  consideration  the.  facts  that  unless  the  weather 
is  very  thick,  all  the  work  has  to  be  done  at  night 
and  then  signs  of  it  completely  disguised  from 
above  before  each  dawn — that  you  only  have 
about  a  fifth  of  your  men  to  work  with,  the  others 
being  on  duty  or  at  the  wagon  lines,  and  that  the 
whole  time  you  have  got  to  keep  your  guns  in 
action,  and  a  crew  on  them  day  and  night — and 
the  job  commences  to  look  too  big  for  anybody 
but  a  German  to  tackle !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  It's 
like  everything  else — It  only  necessitates  tackling 
it  in  the  right  spirit  and  carrying  it  through 
quickly — but  It's  a  damned  nuisance  all  the  same. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  locate  a  new 
position,  preferably  among  ruins,  where  you  can 
work  best  without  being  seen  and  make  your 
structures  blend  well  from  above — but  principally 
where  all  sides  would  be  screened  from  any  ground 
level  or  balloon  observation.     You  can  never  be 


202         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

screened  from  aeroplane  observation,  of  course; 
you  simply  have  to  be  careful  about  not  firing 
when  they're  up  and  take  your  chance,  but  it's  a 
great  thing  to  be  screened  from  the  rest. 

The  General,  who  knows  this  part  of  the  line 
well,  was  very  pessimistic  about  finding  any  likely 
place,  for  they  are  all  pretty  well  staked  out  and 
occupied,  but  I  had  the  luck  to  locate  the  abso- 
lutely ideal  thing  within  200  yards  of  our  door. 
This  was  quite  satisfactory  and  getting  the  mate- 
rial up  the  next  night,  we  set  to  and  In  three  days 
had  things  sufficiently  well  along  to  move  the  guns 
over.  But  In  the  meanwhile  It  was  rotten  to  keep 
them  In  action  In  the  old  place.  They  shelled  us 
regularly  In  small  lots — all  the  time.  Just  enough 
to  make  It  always  unsafe  to  go  to  or  from  the 
battery  or  to  remain  In  It,  and  It  was  with  a  damn 
good  win  and  high  spirits  that  we  finally  sneaked 
our  guns  out  one  midnight  and  ran  them  Into  their 
new  homes.  The  Lady  Moon  was  our  friend  the 
whole  time,  and  continues  to  be — she  Is  full  right 
now  and  a  glorious  golden  as  she  rose — and  in  a 
minute  I'm  going  out  to  smoke  a  pipe  and  give 
her  a  message  for  the  Igloo. 

Well,  after  we  got  over,  we  had  to  re-reglster 
all  our  lines,  of  course,  and  then  too  we've  been 
building  ever  since  and  improving,  and  now  we've 
got  to  build  up  that  second  story  effect  to  please 
the  General,  which  will  take  a  week  at  least  to 
finish  properly,  and  after  that  I  reckon  he'll  prob- 
ably want  an  elevator  put  in ! 

The  trenches  we  are  shooting  over  here  are,  on 
the  whole,  very  bad.     Not  that  they  aren't  kept 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      203 

up  in  good  enough  shape  and  all  that,  but  they 
have  been  so  incontinently  strafed  so  many  times, 
and  the  dead  of  a  year  ago  are  planted  so  thick, 
that  the  aspect  is  somewhat  appalling.  They  are 
the  perfect  example  of  the  desolation  of  WAR  to 
a  fertile  countryside,  and  as  a  look  at  them  would 
make  you  sad,  I  won't  go  on  talking  about  them. 
We  only  go  F.  O.  O.  (Forward  Observing  Offi- 
cer) two  days  out  of  twelve  here  though,  so  It's 
not  so  bad.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  a  devil 
of  a  good  time  when  I'm  forv/ard.  There  is  a 
tunnelling  company  of  engineers  mining  under 
them  (hundreds  of  yards  of  galleries)  and  the 
whole  bunch  are  Colonials.  The  O.  C.  is  my 
particular  pal — a  Canadian — who  has  mined  in 
all  the  world  before  the  War,  and  as  I  always 
mess  with  them,  I  ran  a  private  wire  down  to 
their  suite,  twenty  feet  underground,  and  after 
the  day's  shooting  or  whatever's  on,  is  over,  I  take 
my  'phone  down  there,  send  my  signallers  back 
to  Battalion  Headquarters,  and  spend  the  rest  of 
the  evening  till  about  midnight,  yarning  or  play- 
ing cards,  or  listening  to  Alma  Gluck  sing  ''Carry 
Me  Back  to  Ole'  Virginy." 

Your  anxiously  awaited  New  Year's  package 
arrived  two  days  ago,  dearest,  and  it  certainly 
was  a  joy  of  joys.  I  laughed  till  I  cried  over 
Inez'  bed  warmers  which  I  thought  at  first  were 
fireworks,  but  which  I  am  going  to  try  the  first 
cold  day.  The  diary  is  a  dear — the  notes  in  back 
give  me  the  chance  to  do  the  right  thing  to  every- 
body who  chipped  in  on  the  Christmas  boxes,  and 
the  little  foreword  by  Gookie  was  sweet — I'll  not 


204        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

forget,  dearest, — don't  worry,  I  say  'em  for  you, 
always. 

And  the  second  installment  of  the  picture  book, 
dear.  It  is  just  the  most  precious  thing  in  the  world. 
The  pieces  of  home  that  I  love  best  slapped  right 
into  my  pocket  where  I  can  draw  on  them  any  time 
I  like.  You  are  darling  as  always — the  pictures 
of  Davy  are  the  greatest  reassurance,  as  you  said 
they'd  be — and  the  scenes  wrap  themselves  around 
my  heart  until  I  breathe  the  glorious  salt  air  off 
the  Bay  again  and  bathe  myself  in  the  Piedmont 
sunshine  and  hear  the  little  sparrows  in  the  Plttis- 
porium  hedge  as  plainly  as  if  I  stood  in  front  of 
the  Igloo  in  all  my  physical  entirety. 

I  will  treasure  that  picture  book  all  my  life. 

The  last  page  being  strung  out  principally  to 
carry  it  past  the  thirteen  mark,  I  will  call  this  a 
go,  dearest. 

Fondest,  dearest  love, 

from 

Habs. 

A  General  Letter. 

British  Expeditionary  Force, 

20th  of  January,  1916. 

Dearest  Folks, 

I  reckon  you  are  beginning  to  think  that  It's  a 
long  time  between  drinks,  in  the  matter  of  these 
"generals"  of  mine,  but  the  trouble  lies  in  the 
fact  that  since  my  last  (Loos)  letter,  there  has 
been  no  particular  Incident  round  which  I  could 
center  one.  Now,  however,  I  feel  that  I  should 
have  anticipated  this  and  sent  along  an  occasional 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      205 

shorter  one  just  to  keep  you  posted.  But  It's  diffi- 
cult to  be  faithful  in  these  matters,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  make  any  rash  promises  for  the  future 
which  I  may  fall  to  keep.  You  know  without  any 
verbal  assurance,  that  I  love  you  enough  to  want 
to  keep  you  posted — and  that  I  write  whenever  my 
conscience  hollers  loud  enough. 

In  this  letter  I  shall  give  you  a  short  resume 
of  our  movements  since  the  Division  moved  into 
the  line  In  Belgium  In  October — and  some  de- 
scription of  the  everyday  life  of  trench  warfare. 

My  Loos  letter  left  us  sitting  in  our  wagon 
lines  about  five  miles  in  rear  of  the  firing  Hne  in 
a  very  pretty  part  of  Belgium,  and  there  we  re- 
mained (our  brigade)  for  a  solid  month  (while 
the  three  other  brigades  were  In  action)  building 
horse  standings — shelters  for  the  men,  etc.,  etc., 
and  generally  fixing  up  the  place  as  a  permanent 
location.  Early  in  November  the  word  came  that 
"D"  Battery  would  go  Into  action  soon  and  we 
were  given  the  ''Zone"  (of  the  trenches)  that  we 
were  to  cover  and  told  to  locate  a  battery  position 
and  build  gun  pits  and  dugouts.  I  spent  several 
days  walking  all  over  the  map  with  Captain  Lucas 
and  found  several  possible  positions,  but  we  never 
even  started  work  because  on  the  12th  we  were 
ordered  to  "take  over"  the  position  of  another 
battery  which  was  going  out  to  rest,  and  on  the 
nth  we  brought  the  guns  up  and  moved  in — and 
they  out. 

This  was  a  very  pretty  position.  In  the  grounds 
of  an  old  chateau.    It,  as  well  as  the  trenches  we 


2o6        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

shot  over,  and  the  city  behind  It,  all  came  Into  the 
last  picture  of  the  191 5  Royal  Academy,  which 
you  may  have  seen.  I  do  not  describe  them  ac- 
curately, nor  will  I  In  this  letter  give  the  name  of 
any  of  those  places,  because  they  are  more  or  less 
permanent  positions  In  *'the  line"  and  as  such,  I 
doubt  If  Friend  Censor  would  apply  the  "two 
weeks  after  the  event"  rule. 

We  did  a  good  deal  of  firing  up  here,  mostly  In 
"retaliation"  for  hostile  fire — and  our  only  rang- 
ing was  on  targets — In  or  close  behind  the  Ger- 
man front  line,  observation  being  entirely  by  perl- 
scope  out  of  our  front  trench.  There  was  a  trench 
mortar  across  the  way  that  used  to  bother  us  a 
good  deal  In  the  evenings — great,  damn,  big  things 
it  threw  over.  You  could  see  'em  go  straight  up 
about  a  thousand  miles,  turning  over  and  over  like 
a  sausage,  and  the  same  shape,  and  then  fall 
down,  down,  down,  and  plop  Into  some  place  In 
our  lines.  They  weighed  about  one  hundred 
pounds  (all  high  explosives)  and  used  to  burst  any 
old  time.  Sometimes  It  would  be  In  the  air  and 
sometimes  on  percussion  and  then  again  they'd 
drop  and  lie  for  a  second  or  two  before  they  went 
off.  Rifle  grenades  bothered  us  a  lot  too.  About 
the  fourth  day  I  was  up  though,  I  spotted  the 
trench  mortar  emplacement — got  a  couple  of  pegs 
lined  up  on  him  on  the  sandbags  from  one  point 
of  the  trench,  and  then  another  cross  bearing  from 
a  point  around  a  corner  about  twenty  yards  away, 
and  that  night  we  threw  about  twenty  rounds  of 
high  explosives  on  to  him.  It  didn't  finish  him 
though  and  two  days  later  when  young  Baxter  ( ju- 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      207 

nior  subaltern  of  the  battery)  was  up,  they  started 
up  again  about  five  In  the  morning.  He  signalled 
through  at  once  for  retaliation  and  we  sent  over 
about  forty  rounds  which  finished  him  up  for  good, 
but  It  was  In  the  early  morning  light  and  Bax  was 
observing  over  the  parapet  without  periscope. 
After  the  shooting  was  over  and  dawn  was  crack- 
ing, he  was  still  up  there  looking  around,  and 
the  poor  kid  got  sniped  clean  through  the  back 
of  his  head.  The  eternal  wonder  of  It  Is  that  they 
got  him  back  to  the  base  and  he  lived  through  It 
and  is  virtually  going  to  be  all  right  again,  but  he's 
knocked  out  for  a  good  many  months  yet,  and  that 
was  the  last  I  ever  saw  of  him.  Another  man 
came  up  from  the  B.  A.  C.  to  take  his  place. 

After  we'd  been  In  this  position  about  a  week, 
our  zone  was  shifted  (the  Lord  knows  why!) 
forty  degrees  right,  which  put  us  over  a  set  of 
trenches  about  a  mile  farther  down.  These  were 
chiefly  remarkable  for  the  size  of  the  Battalion 
Headquarters  Mess,  where  I  slept  when  forward 
(a  regular  great  room)  and  for  the  Battalion  staff 
of  the  Northumberland  FusIHers  who  occupied  it. 
The  Colonel  was  a  devil  of  a  nice  Johnny  who  only 
regretted  that  the  whole  of  our  dear  country 
wasn't  of  a  mind  with  your  honorable  servant — 
but  who  had  gotten  the  fallacious  idea  into  his 
head  that  the  war  would  be  over  by  Christmas, 
same  as  Henry  Ford.  Not  that  he'd  ever  heard  of 
Henry,  but  he  swore  that  the  old  Bosch  was  get- 
ting quieter  and  his  strafing  commencing  to  peter 
out.  I  didn't  think  so  because  I  never  knew  him 
to  be  so  quick  on  the  trigger  with  his  retaliation 


2o8        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

yet.  Twice  I  tried  to  range  from  the  front  line 
by  periscope,  and  he  must  have  had  it  marked 
of ,  and  registered  in  fifties  of  yards,  because  both 
times  before  Fd  fired  three  shouts,  he  opened  up 
right  over  my  head  with  a  salvo  of  whiz  bangs 
and  I  decamped.  After  that  we  gave  it  up  as  a 
bad  job  and  ranged  from  a  lovely  high  point  on 
tliQ  canal  bank  in  rear. 

Well,  we'd  been  shooting  here  for  another  week 
when  the  word  came  that  the  Division  was  going 
out  for  a  month's  rest,  so  it  was  hand  over  to  the 
newcomers,  pack  up  our  traps  and  a  three  days' 
march  way,  way  back  into  a  lovely  little  village 
in  France.  When  we  left,  the  last  of  the  leaves  on 
our  chateau  trees  had  just  about  fallen  and  four 
days  later  the  position  was  found  and  our  relief 
shelled  out  of  it.  Three  days  after  we  arrived  I 
found  myself  posted  in  brigade  orders  to  '^C"  Bat- 
tery, which  I  had  asked  for  (there  happened  to  be 
a  vacancy  imminent),  and  I  joined  at  once.  And 
here,  under  a  Canadian  Battery  Commander, 
Captain  Wurtele,  a  much  younger  man  and  from 
my  own  side  of  the  water,  I  have  been  very  happy 
ever  since  and  have  been  able  to  do  much  better 
work.  The  battery  is  by  long  odds  the  smartest 
in  the  brigade  and  equal  to  any  in  the  Division 
— the  men  pull  together  wonderfully  well  and  take 
a  damn  great  pride  in  the  battery  and  all  goes 
swimmingly. 

We  had  a  month's  glorious  rest  at  Acquin — no 
fatigue  except  harness,  cleaning  exercise  and  sta- 
bles. No  parades  except  gun  drill  and  an  occa- 
sional route  march,  a  drill  order  inspection  and 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      209 

lots  of  football  and  sports.  We  won  In  the  finals 
of  the  Divisional  Artillery  Football  championship, 
but  were  just  beaten  out  by  a  splendid  team,  cap- 
tained by  their  own  battery  commander  who  is  a 
famous  amateur.  The  men  had  baths  every  couple 
of  days  (we've  fixed  up  baths  here  in  action  now) , 
and  concerts  every  evening  or  so  and  enjoyed  life 
hugely — while  we  entertained  much  in  the  mess 
and  visited  everybody  else  in  the  brigades  and 
worked  the  old  piano  to  death  and  rode  often 
into  the  fine  old  city  ten  miles  away.  The  Captain 
was  away  on  leave  for  a  week. 

Towards  the  last,  though,  it  commenced  to  grow 
monotonous  and  during  the  final  week  I  longed  to 
be  back  in  action  again.  I  was  getting  particular 
about  my  food  and  couldn't  have  written  another 
letter  if  I'd  tried. 

On  the  morning  of  the  30th,  the  brigade 
trekked.  We  marched  three  days  and  took  over 
the  wagon  lines  of  the  outgoing  battery  and  their 
guns  in  action  on  the  night  of  January  first  of 
the  New  Year. 

February  2,   1916. 

The  Division  will  likely  be  holding  this  part  of 
the  line  for  another  couple  of  months.  It  is  on 
the  cards  for  our  battery  to  be  relieved  about  the 
twentieth  for  two  weeks  at  our  wagon  lines,  to 
pay  a  little  attention  to  our  horses  and  give  the 
gunners  and  signallers  a  short  rest  from  the  more 
or  less  constant  shell  fire.  (I  mean  the  noise  of 
it.)  We,  ourselves,  would  greatly  prefer  remain- 
ing where  we  are,  or  at  least  to  return  to  the  same 


210        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

position  after  the  fortnight  out,  but  It  Is  doubtful 
if  they  will  allow  us  this.  We  shall  probably  take 
over  from  one  of  the  three  other  batteries  of  the 
brigade  and  as  they  all  have  fairly  decent  positions 
(I  believe)  it  doesn't  make  so  much  difference. 

'Long  about  April  first,  it  is  highly  probable 
that  the  whole  Division  will  go  out  for  another 
month's  rest,  just  like  the  last  one  at  Acquin,  to 
give  the  Infantry  a  change  and  allow  us  to  get  our 
horses  into  condition  for  the  summer's  fighting, 
which  (D.  V.)  will  commence  in  May.  And  from 
then  on  for  the  next  five  months,  the  old  Bosch 
will  have  to  stand  to  his  guns  to  face  a  series  of 
what  will  be  one  of  the  most  tremendous  attacks 
in  history.  He  may  be  able  to  hold  his  line — 
approximately — against  the  whole  of  next  sum- 
mer's campaign.  There  are  several  military  writ- 
ers who  say  that  trench  warfare  has  gone  as  far 
as  it  can  go — that  neither  side  will  ever  shift  the 
other's  line — the  advantage  being  so  preponder- 
antly on  the  side  of  the  defensive,  etc.,  etc.  But 
that  theory  is  yet  to  be  proved,  and  for  my  part  I 
am  more  inclined  to  lay  my  bets  on  another  card, 
and  that  is  the  one  that  I  believe  is  to  prove  the 
Joker  in  the  deck  to  Germany.  It  is  without  suit 
or  number,  and  has  just  eight  letters  printed  on 
it,  all  capitals — thus: 


THE 
RIGHT 


for  all  history,  military  and  otherwise,  records, 
that  in  every  great  war  where  matters  of  prin- 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       211 

ciple  have  been  the  issue — the  side  that  stood  for 
civilization,  for  progress,  for  right — has  invaria- 
bly won  out. 

So  I  doubt  not  that  one  way  or  another  we  shall 
eventually  bring  the  old  Bosch  to  a  reckoning. 
We've  got  the  men  to  do  it  with,  the  men  have  got 
the  spirit,  the  Nation  is  behind  the  Army,  giving 
us  an  endless  sufficiency  of  grub  and  munitions 
and  all  we  want  is  the  leader  to  handle  this  mighty 
weapon.  When  we  get  him — we'll  beat  Germany. 
Of  course,  our  Staff  work  is  rotten  and  always  has 
been,  but  the  right  man  will  make  little  of  whip- 
ping that  into  line  along  with  the  rest.  When  this 
leader  of  ours  will  come,  I've  no  idea — although 
I  misdoubt  me  it  likely  won't  be  until  along  in 
1917,  but  I  reckon  he  will  bob  up  eventually. 
Whether  we  already  know  his  name  and  ought  to 
be  able  to  recognize  him,  or  whether  he  Is  still  un- 
known even  to  himself,  I  can't  guess,  nor  would 
I  even  say  for  certain  that  he  will  be  a  Britisher. 
He  mjght  be  a  Frenchman  and  still  lead  the  Brit- 
ish Army  to  victory.  I  only  give  you  my  impres- 
sion of  what  seems  to  me,  and  to  a  great  many  of 
us,  to  be  the  thing  that  we  have  not  yet — and  leave 
you  to  figure  out  for  yourselves  whether  I've  been 
hitting  the  pipe  or  not. 

Sorry  I  got  off  the  track  again — I  shall  have 
my  week's  leave  to  England,  (D.  V.)  before  this 
month  is  out  and  I  surely  am  going  to  have  a  devil 
of  a  good  time.  Thomas  is  going  to  join  me  first 
rattle  out  of  the  box  and  be  with  me  the  whole 
time.    We  will  spend  the  first  three  days  at  Stow 


212        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

and  the  last  four  at  ''Stepmother's,"  one  of  which 
will  be  devoted  to  a  trip  to  Beaumont  and  another 
to  Woggles  (Mr.  Murray  Ogilvy).  And  speak- 
ing of  leave — that  is  one  of  the  things  that  I  do 
not  forget  to  give  thanks  for,  that  you  are  all 
safely  out  of  reach  around  the  edge  of  the 
Western  Ocean.  These  poor  chaps  go  back  from 
here  for  seven  days  in  Heaven,  and  at  the  end 
of  that  time  there  comes  to  them  a  parting,  the 
idea  of  which  must  have  originated  many  years 
ago  in  Hell.  Thrice  blessed  am  I  that  I  can  go 
back  and  have  a  perfectly  gorgeous  vacation  and 
leave  it  at  the  end  with  nothing  more  alarming 
than  a  last  drink  at  the  station  with  Tommy  and 
a  ''So  long,  old  Cock!  Look  after  yourself,  and 
don^t  take  any  rubber  money  while  I'm  away!" 

My  Christmas  boxes  are  traced  at  last  in  Lon- 
don— as  Stepmother  writes,  and  will  commence 
coming  through  shortly.  I  am  standing  on  one 
foot  at  a  time  in  anticipation. 

I've  got  a  hunch  that  somebody  has  wondered 
where  I  am  writing  this.  It  is  my  night  in  the 
observation  post  and  I  am  sitting  down  in  a  tight 
concrete  cellar — with  four  layers  of  sandbags  on 
top — of  a  partially  ruined  house  out  in  front  of 
the  city.  There  is  a  cheerful  fire  in  the  stove  and 
my  arm  chair  is  very  comfortable — but  it  has 
nothing  on  the  spring  bed  in  the  corner.  One  of 
my  signallers  is  on  duty  and  the  other  is  asleep, 
and  in  another  minute  I'll  go  up  to  the  roof  and 
have  a  look  out  over  our  trenches  a  mile  away, 
just  to  see  if  the  star  shells  are  as  frequent  as 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      213 

usual  and  the  wind  still  fair.  It  Is  very  quiet — 
only  an  occasional  battery  salvo  or  a  half  minute 
burst  from  a  machine  gun  breaks  the  silence — that 
and  the  second  signaller  I  spoke  of,  who,  I  just 
note  with  considerable  alarm,  is  beginning  to 
snore. 

Good-night  all,  my  dearest  folks — it's  a  damned 
sleepy 

Habs 
that  writes  you  all  his  love. 

February  Third,  Nineteen  Sixteen. 

N.  B. — Even  year — come  day  after  to-morrow 
— since  I  left  Oakland  for  the  War.  .  .  . 


To  David, 


British  Expeditionary  Force, 

25  January,  1915. 


Dear  Old  Boy, 

I  surely  have  left  you  a  hell  of  a  while  without 
a  letter  and  I  ought  to  be  shot  for  it,  but  I  wrote 
Gookie  a  long  message  to  you  three  weeks  ago 
that  promised  a  speedy  reform.  Since  then  the 
orders  from  the  "Gineral"  were  that  the  emplace- 
ments were  to  be  sufficiently  strong  to  withstand  a 
direct  hit  by  5.9  in.  howitzer,  and  the  undertaking 
provided  about  ten  days'  hard  labor  for  all  hands. 
Construction  on  the  firing  line  lacks  that  Incentive 
of  permanence  which  leads  us  through  so  many 
trials — to  build  beautiful  homes  and  gardens  and 


214        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

ranches  In  the  piping  times  of  peace,  for  the  sake 
of  the  pride  and  enjoyment  that  we  take  In  the 
(never  quite)  finished  result.  And  as  for  that 
altruistic  attitude  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  Welsh 
dreamer  (Harry  means  Tom  Evans)  that  leads 
him  to  plant  quaint  and  rare  nuts,  that  they  may 
grow  into  stately  trees  to  shade  the  future  play- 
ground of  his  friends'  grandchildren,  you  might 
almost  say  that  It  is  forgotten  over  here. 

All  positions  are  found  sooner  or  later  and  this 
one  of  ours  will  be  no  exception. 

I  need  not  tell  you  that  the  accounts  of  your 
sickness  have  caused  Tom  and  me  more  anxiety 
than  anything  that  can  happen  over  here.  For 
God's  sake  don't  work  too  hard,  Davy — the  result 
of  anything  rotten  happening  to  you  would  be 
plain  particular  hell  for  all  of  us.  If  I  thought 
that  it  came  over  my  interests,  I'd  never  face 
Bess  and  the  kids. 

In  regard  to  business,  I  take  careful  note  of  all 
you  have  to  say  In  regard  to  Alta  Vista  and  the 
Stanislaus  Ranch,  and  will  be  only  too  well  satis- 
fied with  any  steps  you  may  be  able  to  take.  But 
I  do  hope  that  you  will  lead  it  into  some  form  or 
other,  that  will  one  day  help  to  do  some  part 
towards  keeping  my  buttons  bright,  when — In  the 
future — they  bear  the  Eagle  Instead  of  the  Crown. 
You've  got  more  sound  business  knowledge  in  your 
little  finger  than  the  rest  of  the  family  could  show 
by  drawing  out  their  whole  accounts,  and  if  Papa 
were  alive,  he'd  say  "Amen"  to  that. 

As  to  the  changes  and  Improvements  that  you 
and  Gookie  have  been  Indulging  in,  I  couldn^t  help 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      215 

feeling  tickled  all  the  time  to  think  of  the  tears 
and  the  groans  and  the  curses  that  you  were  both 
pouring  on  the  unfortunate  contractors'  heads 
— just  the  same  as  I  strafe  everybody  and  every- 
thing, and  sweat  valuable  energy  when  I  have  to 
build  stuff  over  here.  It's  a  great  old  game  and 
It's  surely  In  the  blood  of  this  family.  We'd 
build  additions  and  make  alterations  to  our  own 
graves,  if  we  could  find  a  plausible  excuse  when 
we're  dead. 

What  you  have  to  say  about  my  ability  to  write 
and  the  utilization  of  It  towards  a  career,  I'm 
afraid,  Davy,  doesn't  find  a  sympathetic  echo  In 
my  mind.  When  I  am  taking  part  in  new  and 
interesting  scenes  (or  during  my  year  at  sea  and 
now  In  the  war)  I  can  write  of  what  I  see  for 
you  all  and  my  friends  to  read,  because  I  am  tre- 
mendously Interested  and  want  you  to  share  in 
my  Interest  and  know  what  the  game  Is  like ; — but 
the  Idea  of  doing  the  same  thing  for  the  general 
public  fails  to  attract  me.  Also,  although  I  have 
the  ability  to  do  this  fairly  well — it  comes  as  the 
hardest  sort  of  work  In  the  world  to  me  and  only 
the  great  Incentive  that  ^Tve  got  to  tell  the 
family^'  Is  sufficient  to  drive  me  to  it.  No,  old 
man,  I  reckon  you'll  have  to  write  me  down  as 
the  genius  that  wouldn't  bud — as  far  as  that  line 
Is  concerned. 

When  this  war  is  over.  If  I  last  out,  I  shall 
take  the  knowledge  that  I  have  gotten  out  of  it 
home  to  America — where  It  will  be  needed — and 
as  a  soldier  in  the  service  of  my  own  dear  coun- 
try, I  hope  to  lead  a  long  and  useful  life  and 


2i6        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

eventually  to  die — full  of  honors  and  very  old 
port  wine. 

And  as  for  the  cigarettes  which  you  sent,  the 
very  first,  by  the  way,  that  were  ever  despatched 
In  answer  to  my  call — I  reckon  old  von  TIrpItz 
must  have  sent  out  a  U-boat  and  bagged  'em.  At 
any  rate,  don't  worry  about  any  of  these  things, 
— the  thoughts  were  there  for  Habs,  and  that's 
what  makes  life  worth  living. 

This  must  be  all  for  this  time.  Never  a  day 
passes  that  I  don't  think  of  you  and  look  forward 
to  the  brave  day  when,  my  work  over  here  done, 
I  shall  take  a  long  journey  by  sea,  and  marvelling 
muchly  to  find  myself  still  alive,  shall  see  your 
familiar  figure  coming  up  the  companionway,  and 
dramatically  Invite  you  to  ''put  it  there." 

Fondest  love  to  Bess  and  the  kids  and  Mrs. 
Martin  (Davy's  mother-in-law). 

Always  devotedly, 

Habs. 


To  Lucile, 

3rd  of  February,  1916. 

Dearest  Gookie, 

The  silhouettes  from  the  Exposition  are  arrive 
and  are  awfully  cunning — Charlie  looks  a  dead 
ringer  for  Henry  Ford  and  Margie  is  perfect — 
but  yours  doesn't  do  you  justice.  Nevertheless 
they're  all  up  and  greatly  admired.  We  grow 
entirely  shameless  about  exhibiting  our  several 
sisters,  sweethearts  and  wives  on  the  walls  of  the 
mess — not  that  I've  any  of  the  latter. 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       217 

You  won't  be  sore  at  the  last  shout  in  this  gen- 
eral, dearest.  I  wouldn't  say  it  if  I  thought  there 
was  any  chance  of  your  feeling  hurt  about  it — 
but  you  know  you  do  love  me  too  much  and  you 
do  tell  too  many  people  about  me. 

Fondest,  dearest  love, 

from 

Habs. 


To  E.  C.  O'S, 


6th  February,  1916. 


Dearest  Stepmother, 

Your  post-card  of  the  3rd  arrived  this  even- 
ing to  horrify  me  with  the  news  that  that  poor 
old  letter  of  mine  has  gotten  into  print  in  spite 
of  all  my  precautions.  It  is  very  complimentary 
of  course,  the  Argonaut  being  such  a  "high  class" 
organ — but  it's  bad  all  the  same. 

I  hope  the  large  outer  circle  of  my  friends  and 
associates  will  be  generous — such  a  letter  should 
never  reach  any  but  the  ones  it  was  addressed  to 
— but  I  fear  me  greatly  of  the  consequences  of 
its  misplacement.  However  I  "done  my  best" 
to  stop  it  and  there's  no  use  worrying  over  the 
failure,  but  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you  about 
this  when  I  get  back. 

My  leave  should  come  soon  now — I  am  the  last 
remaining  officer  of  a  battery  (of  the  original 
crowd  in  the  brigade)  who  has  not  been  home, 
and  although  I  was  junior  but  one  (wounded  long 
ago)  coming  out,  I  have,  singularly  enough,  been 


2i8        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

longer  in  action  than  any,  so,  as  I  am  in  the 
Colonel's  good  graces  at  present,  I  should  get 
away  right  after  the  two  now  in  England  return. 
I  expect  (D.  V.)  that  will  be  about  the  i8th  of 
the  month,  that  being  the  anniversary  of  my 
arrival  last  year — because  the  family  always  has 
been  H — 1  on  anniversaries. 

And  good  Lord!  won't  I  be  glad — It's  funny, 
because  I  don't  get  "fed  up"  with  the  war,  as 
some  of  the  boys  complain,  and  now  of  all  times 
it  Is  particularly  queer  because  we  are  ensconced 
(for  the  moment)  In  the  solid  and  comfortable 
abode  of  our  own  building  and  everything  In  the 
battery  runs  like  a  charm,  but  I  have  just  got  the 
feeling  that  I  need  a  week  out  of  It  and  need  It 
bad.  The  minute  I've  finished  one  job  I  get  un- 
easy for  something  to  turn  my  hand  to  and  can't 
rest  or  concentrate,  and  the  only  thing  that  has 
any  appeal  for  the  minute  is  a  week's  "run  on 
the  grass."  In  the  last  two  or  three  days  I  have 
been  driven  to  roving  walks  about  the  town  and 
even  to  the  ascent  of  the  cathedral  tower  to  search 
out  the  old  Bosch  by  telescope,  just  to  feel  I  am 
doing  something.  So  all  together,  dearest  step- 
mother, It  Is  a  joyful  and  extremely  voluble 
"adopted"  that  you  will  greet  at  the  door  of  your 
sweet  home. 

Present  schedules  will  give  me  eight  clear  days 
in  England  and  will  land  me  at  Victoria  Station 
in  the  afternoon,  so  that  I  think  the  best  program 
will  be — first  night  with  you,  a  visit  to  my  tailors 
the  next  morning,  lunch  down  town  together,  and 
then  to  Stow  in  the  p.  M.  for  the  three  days,  when 


LETTERS   AND   CONLMENT       219 

I  will  return  with  Thomas  for  the  best  half  of 
the  game.  Will  let  you  know  the  exact  date  if 
possible  before. 

Best  love  from  your 

Stepson. 


VII 

FIRST   LEAVE    FROM  THE    FRONT 

This  came  In  February,  191 6.  His  adopted 
step-sister  and  step-brother  had  measles,  but  it 
was  a  part  of  Harry's  happy  optimism  to  spend 
his  hohday  at  Number  7  just  the  same,  and  to 
cheer  the  invalids  with  his  gay  presence.  He  was 
oblivious  to  the  risk  we  pointed  out  of  his  taking 
measles  back  to  the  entire  British  Army. 

However,  his  confidence  was  justified.  He  had 
a  successful  and  joyous  leave,  and  returned  in 
fine  shape  to  the  Front. 


Letter  to  Lucile  from  E.  C.  O^S. 

7  Lansdowne  Road, 
Holland  Park,  W. 
Feb.  29/16. 

Dear  Mrs.  Bray^ 

You'll  have  known  that  Harry  had  his  leave 
at  last, — just  in  time — as  all  leaves  are  now 
stopped. 

He  "blew  In" — (only  our  native  slang  Is  equal 
to  the  breezlness  of  his  arrival)  Thursday,  the 
17th,  went  down  to  Stow-on-the-Wold  Friday — 
came  back  with  Mr.  Evans  on  the  Monday — and 

220 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT       221 

departed,  alas! — on  Friday,  the  25th.  We  called 
it  the  American  Cyclone.  Never  have  I  seen  any- 
thing more  splendidly  enthusiastic,  happy,  up- 
roarious; and  the  silence  of  the  house,  when  that 
handsome  and  lively  personahty  had  gone,  was 
really  unbearable. 

You  will  have  heard  from  Mr.  Evans  that  the 
boy  looked  extraordinarily  well — rosy,  free  from 
nerves,  and  altogether  in  fine  condition. 

He's  keen  to  get  out  to  the  Russian  Front,  and 
I  tried  to  manage  it — but  Comdr.  Locker  Lamp- 
son,  who  would  have  taken  him  on  the  armored 
motor  car  service  under  the  Admiralty,  had  just 
gone  back  to  Russia.  I  wasn't  sorry;  it  would 
have  been  terribly  far  away  and  un-get-at-able. 
Heavens  knows,  the  front  in  Flanders  is  going 
to  be  bad  enough — but  nothing  to  Russia,  nor  to 
the  present  Verdun  or  Champagne  fronts. 


To  Liicile, 

B.  E.   F., 

27th  of  February,  191 6. 

Dearest, 

The  whole  of  western  Europe  is  under  snow 
and  it's  as  beautiful  here  as  it  was  in  London. 

I  returned  to  find  the  whole  brigade  resting  in 
the  wagon  lines  with  the  exception  of  our  own 
noble  battery  which  has  come  straight  into  action 
in  another  place  to  take  part  in  the  recovery  of 
some  lost  trenches.     We've  only  been  in  three 


222         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

days  now,  but  yesterday  when  I  showed  up  the 
position  was  complete, — ammunition  all  up,  the 
battery  registered  and  the  men  smiling  at  their 
work  from  a  warm  and  comfortable  row  of  dug- 
outs. They  surely  are  a  smart  lot.  Haven't  any 
idea  what  our  movements  will  be,  but  we're  here 
for  this  show  anyway.  The  Bosch  treated  us  to 
a  bombing  attack  last  night  and  gave  us  the  op- 
portunity for  twenty  minutes'  barrage,  but  have 
not  repeated  the  dose  this  evening. 

The  week  In  England  was  lovely — Thomas 
with  me  the  whole  time,  as  I  promised.  Two 
days  at  Stow — one  at  Beaumont,  and  the  last  three 
at  Stepmother's — where  we  spent  our  days  be- 
tween Arthur  Kelsey's — the  American  Consulate 
— Woggles  (Mr.  Murray  Ogilvy) — Bradford 
(Mr.  H.  P.  Bradford)— Julie  Heyneman's  "Cali- 
fornia House" — the  Garvins',  Edmund  Davises' 
and  the  Bath  Club.  I  made  up  my  mind  at  the 
start  that  If  I  tried  to  do  the  things  I  ought  to  do, 
my  leave  would  go  like  a  dream  and  I  would  re- 
turn to  the  front  a  wreck — So  I  just  did  exactly 
what  I  wanted  to  and  nothing  else;  had  a  glorious 
time  and  feel  a  million  times  better  than  when  I 
went  away. 

The  impression  of  the  week  Is  Stepmother  and 
her  home.  She  Is  a  darling,  Gookle,  and  a  great 
big  piece  of  San  Francisco  set  down  in  the  middle 
of  London — my  home,  where  I  head  as  surely  as 
I  do  for  the  Igloo.  And,  believe  me,  we  surely 
made  the  Eagle  scream  all  the  time.  I've  always 
kept  pretty  clear  of  an  accent  or  foreign  manner 
in  the  course  of  the  years  I've  spent  in  ''foreign 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT      223 

parts,"  but  I  never  knew  how  much  of  an  Ameri- 
can I  really  am  until  I  became  an  officer  In  the 
British  Army.  Which  reminds  me  that  one  of 
the  captains  In  the  Brigade  under  whom  I  once 
sat  on  a  Court  of  Enquiry,  told  me  that  It  was  his 
firm  belief  that  there  should  be  one  American 
in  every  battery! 
Love  and  bon  soir, 

Devotedly, 

Habs. 


To  E.  C.  O'S, 

27th  February,  1916. 

I  don't  quite  know  how  to  tell  you  how  large 
a  chunk  of  the  mental  atmosphere  in  which  my 
soul  lives,  has  been  displaced  and  occupied  by 
Number  7  Lansdowne  Rd.  and  the  Irish  Family 
who  dwell  therein.  I  can  close  my  eyes  and  see 
you  speak  to  Tom  in  extenuation  of  the  English — 
or  send  Biddy  and  Terry  to  bed,  or  come  back 
to  me  and  what  you  are  going  to  send  me  when 
the  Bosches  catch  me — In  fact  I've  just  done  it. 
I  told  you  I  was  dependent  to  an  alarming  extent 
— and  now  the  chief  burden  of  my  dependence 
must  fall  on  you  for  the  period  of  the  war.  I 
can't  help  it.  It's  entirely  without  my  volition,  but 
I  wouldn't  change  it  If  I  could,  and  I  could  no 
more  separate  you  from  my  constant  thoughts  than 
I  could  Gookie  or  Tom.. 


224        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

9th  March,   191 6. 

Dearest  Stepmother, 

All  well  and  the  brigade  all  in  action — ourselves 
in  the  same  place.  I'm  down  for  four  days  in 
the  wagon  lines,  and  what  do  you  think !  Fve  got 
a  parson  coming  to  live  with  me  this  afternoon. 
They  must  think  Fm  in  need  of  being  saved. 
Don't  know  yet  whether  he's  Church  of  England, 
Jew,  or  Catholic. 


VIII 

SPRING 

To  Lucile. 

B.  E.  F.,  AND  It  Ought  to  be  the 
British  Army  in  France, 

— because  to  call  the  damn  thing  an  expeditionary 
force  now  is  like  your  dating  a  letter  to  me  from 
the  Settlement  of  San  Francisco.     However — 

nth  of  March,  1916. 

Dearest  Gookie, 

A  perfectly  peachy  letter  from  you  dated  the 
20th  of  last  month  arrived  yesterday  evening, 
and  to-night  I  got  round  to  a  decent  answer,  after 
clearing  up  the  rest  of  the  correspondence. 

The  night  is  perfect  and  we  are  taking  it  quite 
easy  In  this  position,  so  everything  is  right  up 
for  a  good  chin-chin. 

Your  Novena  to  our  Lady  of  Lourdes,  I  have 
no  doubt,  straightened  out  the  missing  boxes.  You 
say  you  didn't  start  it  until  the  nth,  and  if  I  re- 
member right,  they  came  the  next  day.  I  might 
have  known  She  had  something  to  do  with  it,  be- 
cause that  same  day  I  found  the  servants  bring- 
ing in  our  water  supply  in  an  old  one-gallon 
*Vater-of-Lourdes"  can  that  had  belonged  to  the 
departed  dwellers  In  our  house,  and  the  familiar 

225 


226         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

blue  and  silver  enameling  of  the  grotto  and  Holy 
Figure,  surrounded  by  stars,  certainly  gave  me  a 
start.  I  told  the  servants  always  to  bring  the 
water  In  It,  and  thanked  Heaven  that  we'd  some 
safeguard  against  the  dead  Belgian  hero  at  the 
bottom  of  the  well!  I  also  remarked  that  It 
would  bring  us  luck.  So  there's  your  chain  and 
it  suits  me,  whether  or  not  It  would  appeal  to 
the  Society  for  Psychical  Research. 

That  surely  is  hard  about  Allan  Messer  (son 
of  San  Francisco  friends,  killed  In  action) — but  no 
doubt  he  died  like  a  gentleman  and  has  won  the 
full  benefit  of  all  the  experience  and  accomplish- 
ment that  he  was  able  to  cram  into  his  life.  The 
only  tragedy,  as  I  see  it,  would  be  to  feel,  as  one 
lived  on  and  grew  old,  that  one  had  ceased  to 
progress  in  soul — or  worse,  as  undoubtedly  hap- 
pens to  many  of  us,  that  one  was  actually  slipping 
back,  losing  a  part  of  what  one  had  already  gained 
by  struggle  and  suffering. 

The  last  thing  in  the  world  that  I  want  to  do 
is  to  die — but  if  I  ever  lost  the  hope  of  going  al- 
ways forward,  gaining  a  little  more  knowledge 
and  a  little  more  strength  each  year — I'd  like  to 
have  one  of  these  big  noisy  black  things  drop  on 
my  head  toute  de  suite,  and  finish  off  at  least  with 
the  credit  of  what  I'd  already  gained.  But  even 
that  would  be  a  little  bitter  if  I  were  not  able  to 
feel  that  I  was  still  on  the  upward  way.  So  here's 
to  our  ideals — and  if  we  can't  attain  them  in  life, 
may  we  at  least  deserve  them  In  death! 

I  was  awfully  tickled  to  hear  about  your  see- 
ing   Edgar    Rickard.      I    like    him    very   much, 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT      227 

Gookle, — he's  a  fine  man  and  a  great  relief  in 
London.  I  surely  shall  be  anxious  to  see  him 
when  I  next  get  across.  Remember  that  while 
you  have  now  seen  two  who  have  seen  me  over 
here,  I  have  as  yet  seen  no  one  who  has  seen  you 
or  any  one  of  the  family  since  I  left. 

And  now,  dearest — there  have  been  so  many 
shifts  and  changes  since  the  Christmas  boxes  ar- 
rived and  I've  never  gotten  around  to  telling  you 
about  It — that  it's  almost  impossible  to  do  justice 
to  it  now.  What  I  remember  Is,  that  they  came 
with  the  rations  at  seven  o'clock  one  evening, 
just  as  the  Captain  and  I,  alone  In  the  mess,  were 
sitting  down  to  dinner  In  front  of  a  glorious  fire. 
It  had  been  a  hell  of  a  day  in — (you  know)  ;  the 
Bosch  had  been  shelling  the  city  heavily  and  at 
night,  as  sometimes  happens,  everything  fell  quiet 
and  calm  as  you  please. 

I  had  just  had  orders  to  proceed  on  leave  In 
two  days  which  had  put  me  Into  a  damned  good 
humor — and  when  the  servants  filed  in  with  the 
two  huge  cases,  and  the  six  boxes  of  raisins  from 
Charlie  Teague,  my  heart  gave  a  great  leap  of 
joy  and  turning  to  the  skipper,  I  remarked  as 
casually  as  I  could,  "My  Christmas  boxes — you 
know — from  home."  He  turned  round,  spotted 
them  and  almost  fell  through  the  floor. 

And  then  I  went  for  an  axe  and  dinner  was 
postponed  while  I  broke  them  open  and  took  out 
one  beautiful  package  after  another,  and  spent 
at  least  ten  minutes  over  each. 

And  then  at  the  end,  out  of  the  second  box 
came — the  Heart-Tree — and  that  was  so  perfect, 


228         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

dear,  that  I  darn  near  cried.  But  I  didn't — I  just 
set  It  up  In  the  middle  of  the  table  and  gloried  In 
the  bright  essence  of  California  sunshine  and 
Piedmont  gardens  that  It  radiated.  And  the  day 
I  left,  I  cut  the  tip-top  off  the  tree  to  take  back 
to  Tommy,  and  then  leave  on  my  dresser  at  Stow 
— and  burned  the  rest  of  It  In  the  mess  fire. 

I  read  every  card,  dearest,  and  rejoiced  over 
every  word  from  that  great  wide  circle  of  my 
friends.  What  a  job  you  must  have  had  to  get  all 
those  together.  I  can  Imagine.  But  It  was  worth 
It — even  to  Dan  Whelan  and  Private  Murray. 
You  are  right,  dearest,  there  never  was  a  tree  like 
It — and  It  lives  forever  In  my  memory. 

I  finished  that  paragraph  ten  minutes  ago  and 
do  you  know  I  can't  remember  whether  there  was 
any  particular  present  from  you  In  the  box!  I 
suppose  there  was,  dearest,  and  I  know  It  was 
lovely,  but  that's  as  far  as  ever  I  can  get. 

You  see  you  wrote  everybody  else  down  and 
I  sent  'em  all  their  post  cards  on  the  basis  of 
that,  and  of  course  you  didn't  say  anything  about 
yourself.  And  the  great  difficulty  is  that  I  just 
naturally  think  of  the  whole  thing  as  coming  from 
you.  The  Heart-Tree  was  you  particularly,  with 
some  strain  of  Carey  In  Its  makings,  but  the  whole 
pack  and  boodle  was  yours,  you  see,  and  that's 
the  only  way  I  can  remember  It.  Of  course,  there 
was  the  diary  and  the  second  Installment  of  the 
picture  book,  but  they  were  New  Year  presents. 

Well,  let  it  go — it  doesn't  matter.  It  was  the 
most  wonderful  shipment  that  ever  reached  the 
front  In  Flanders. 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      229 

Nothing  to  add  to  my  line  of  yesterday  about 
the  present  and  immediate  future,  except  that 
some  of  your  beloved  Belgians  (officers)  came 
up  to  the  battery  this  morning,  and  after  much 
saluting  and  bowing  and  shaking  hands,  they  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  to  the  point  that  they  expected 
to  take  over  the  position  in  a  few  days  and  let 
us  move  out  to  rest. 

Night,  night,  dearest, 

Habs. 


To  Lucile. 

12th  of  March,  1916. 

Dearest, 

Everything  all  right  here — after  the  old  Bosch 
gets  through  at  Verdun,  he'll  probably  turn  his 
attention  to  this  favorite  little  corner  and  then 
we  shall  get  a  chance  to  distinguish  ourselves. 


A  lovely  package  arrived  this  evening  from 
Stepmother,  in  consequence  of  which  I  am  now 
full  of  marshmallows.  To-morrow  we'll  have 
plum  pudding  for  dinner  and  for  the  next  week 
we'll  all  swim  In  maple  syrup.  And  by  the  way, 
dearest,  anything  that  comes  from  No.  7  Lans- 
downe  Road  lacks  not  of  the  essence  of  home — So 
don't  have  any  worries  on  that  score. 

I'm  for  bed. 

Goodnight,  dearest, 

Habs. 


230        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 
To  E.  C.  O'S. 

14th  March,  191 6. 

Everything  fairly  quiet  here,  except  that  the 
Bosches  are  shelling  this  wood  with  the  same 
old  big  black  noisy  ones. 

Verdun  is  tremendous,  you're  right.  I  only 
hope  when  those  operations  are  over  and  Wilhelm 
again  turns  his  attacks  against  the  Armee  Brit- 
tanique  that  we  shall  stand  as  bravely  and  as 
stoutly  as  the  French  are  standing. 


To  Lucile, 

22nd  of  March,  191 6. 

Dearest, 

WeVe  come  out  of  action  and  are  back  in  the 
rest  area  for  a  little  while.  Been  here  three  days 
with  lots  of  lovely  green  grass  and  no  noise.  The 
battery  Is  all  spruced  up  and  ready  for  any  degree 
of  General's  Inspection.  Everybody  Is  enjoying 
himself  after  his  own  particular  fashion,  and 
sports  begin  to-morrow. 

Your  letter  which  arrived  yesterday,  finishe4 
up  with  the  paragraph  on  Verdun,  and  your  sor- 
row over  the  tremendous  losses  there — and  not 
only  by  this,  but  by  an  occasional  line  In  the  same 
vein  that  has  been  slipping  into  most  of  your 
letters  lately — I  read  between  the  lines  the  dan- 
gerous fact  that  you  are  thinking  a  little  too  much 
about  some  of  the  disgusting  details  of  Life  at 
the  Front.     Now,  then,  Gookle,  forget  it! 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      231 

I,  who  am  over  here  for  the  good  of  my  soul 
and  the  greater  success  of  the  allied  arms,  have 
got  to  go  through  a  number  of  extremely  un- 
pleasant experiences  and  become  thoroughly 
familiar  with  all  the  sides  that  go  to  make  up  the 
"Romance  of  War";  and  for  me  these  things  are 
good  and  threaten  no  danger  to  the  mind,  be- 
cause a  very  few  seconds  after  you  are  scared 
out  of  a  year's  growth  by  a  shell  arriving  in  the 
next  ravine,  or  turned  sick  by  the  sight  of  some 
uncleared  remains  of  a  late  battlefield,  you  have 
forgotten  about  it,  and  while  the  item  undoubtedly 
has  left  a  permanent  subjective  impression,  it's 
effect  on  the  objective  mind  of  you  and  on  your 
good  health  and  spirits  is  nil.  You've  got  too 
many  other  things  to  think  about,  to  worry  about 
it  for  a  minute  after  it's  out  of  sight  or  sound. 
Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind — is  the  rule  of  the 
soldier  on  active  service,  and  the  few  who  fail  to 
follow  it,  naturally  go  home  with  a  weak  heart 
or  varicose  veins. 

But  with  you  at  home  it's  different.  Once  you 
begin  to  worry  about  the  harrowing  details,  they 
are  always  with  you,  and  as  you  don't  really  know 
a  damned  thing  about  the  actual  shape  or  circum- 
stance of  said  details,  your  imagination  is  given 
full  play  to  garnish  them  up  with  all  the  thunder 
and  lightning  and  souls  writhing  in  torment  ef- 
fect, and  the  longer  you  ponder  on  it  the  worse 
it  gets,  and  pretty  soon  you're  headed  right 
straight  for  the  Nut  Factory.  Wherefore,  I  re- 
peat— forget  it! 


232        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.RA. 

Take  the  war  news  casually,  and  remember 
that  every  battle  brings  us  nearer  to  the  end. 

I  notice  Stewart  Edward  White  tells  you  to 
read  ^'Between  the  Lines."  I  hope  you'll  pay  at- 
tention to  me  when  I  tell  you  not  to  read  it.  Nor 
any  of  the  other  war  books  that  are  just  beginning 
to  appear  in  such  numbers.  "Sergeant  Michael 
Cassidy,  R.  E.,"  "The  First  Hundred  Thousand" 
and  a  few  more  like  them.  Quand  la  guerre 
finit — these  masterpieces  will  be  all  very  well  to 
read  and  ponder  over  as  excellent  descriptions  of 
the  times  we  have  lived  in — I  must  admit  they're 
good  because  I  read  a  couple  of  them  myself  and 
they  gave  me  the  jim-jams  for  a  week;  but  they're 
the  wrong  medicine  right  now  for  anybody  with 
a  personal  interest  in  the  War.  If  you've  already 
bought  "Between  the  Lines"  you  leave  it  for  Gus 
and  the  Colonel  to  read — and  you  can  bet  it  won't 
worry  them ! 

I'm  sorry,  Gookie,  to  have  had  to  climb  on  to 
the  high  horse  and  talk  common  sense  to  you, 
because  I  have  to  take  a  pose  to  do  it,  and  you 
know  that  as  well  as  I  do,  and  aren't  a  bit  im- 
pressed;— but  you  get  my  idea,  and  I'm  just  try- 
ing to  remind  you  of  something  that  you  might 
have  lost  sight  of  for  a  minute. 

More  than  that  I  wouldn't  try  to  do  because 
I  know  only  too  well  that  I  couldn't  fool  you  if 
I  wanted  to. 

I  can't  think  of  another  darned  thing  to  say, 
except  the  same  old 

Devoted  love, 

Habs. 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      233 

To  Lucile,* 

B.  E.  F., 

28th  of  March,   191 6. 

Still  out  at  rest,  dearest,  and  enjoying  ourselves 
entirely. 

I  haven't  got  a  bit  of  news  this  time,  nor  can 
I  think  of  any  subject  that  requires  discussion 
between  us.  Your  last  letters  containing  no  par- 
ticular argumentative  openings.  So  I've  thought 
of  something  else  to  tell  you  about  that  I've  often 
had  in  mind  to  touch  on  In  former  letters  and 
that  I  bet  a  dollar  you  and  Carey  have  always 
wanted  to  hear — namely,  baggage!  and  as  a  sub- 
head— clothes! 

My  principal  piece  of  Impedimenta  Is,  in  com- 
mon with  every  other  officer  in  the  army,  my 
valise — and  for  the  genius  who  invented  it,  my 
admiration  surpasses  all  bounds,  for  It  Is  the  one 
and  only  thoroughly  practical  and  in  every  way 
satisfactory  piece  of  travelling  equipment  that  I 
have  ever  had  experience  with.  It  is  simply  a 
case  2>^  ft.  wide  and  6  ft.  6  Inches  long  of 
(nearly)  waterproof  canvas,  with  a  hollow  pillow 
to  hold  clothes  at  the  head,  and  a  pocket  at  the 
foot,  and  In  it  your  sleeping  bag  and  blankets  are 
made  up,  so  that  at  night  you  simply  loosen  the 
straps,  roll  it  out  on  the  ground,  and  crawl  Into 
a  warm,  dry  bed.  In  the  morning  you  straighten 
It  out  a  little,  roll  it  up  and  pull  the  two  straps 
tight  and  there  you  are. 

Most  men  carry  all  their  clothes  In  it  also,  but 
this  makes  a  pretty  bulky  bundle  and  I  don't  do 


234        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

it  for  three  reasons,  ist — You  have  to  unpack 
everything  at  night  (and  maybe  set  it  in  the  mud) 
and  re-pack  it  in  the  morning.  2nd — If  ever  you 
get  to  open  warfare,  you  would  have  to  carry  such 
a  huge  bundle  in  the  "G.  S."  (General  service) 
wagon,  which  will  probably  drop  a  few  miles 
astern  and  may  not  catch  up  for  weeks;  whereas, 
mine  with  only  my  bed,  toilet  articles,  extra  sox, 
handkerchiefs  and  tobacco,  waterproof  sheet  and 
greatcoat,  rolls  up  no  larger  than  a  grain  sack 
and  is  hooked  on  to  a  very  small  part  of  the  foot- 
board of  one  of  my  firing  battery  wagons  from 
which  I  shall  not  be  separated.  3rd — I  haven't 
got  all  my  eggs  in  one  basket. 

Instead,  I  carry  all  the  remainder  of  my  kit  in 
a  box  about  24''  x  20"  x  15"  high,  built  on  the  or- 
der of  a  very  small  sea  chest,  and  this  does  ride  in 
the  G.  S.  wagon  where  it  won't  bother  me  if  it 
is  lost  for  a  week. 

The  full  list  of  my  kit  works  out  about  as  fol- 
lows:— 2  uniforms,  3  pairs  of  boots  (i  pair 
Canada  waterproof,  knee — ^i  pair  lace  to  knee — 
I  pair  ankle  boots  and  regulation  puttees),  great- 
coat (fur-lined,  knee  length),  oilskin  and  sou- 
wester,  3  changes  shirts  and  underclothes,  3 
towels — toilet  articles.  Plenty  of  sox  and  hand- 
kerchiefs; plenty  of  tobacco,  matches  and  candles. 
Writing  case,  gloves,  muffler,  etc.,  sewing  kit  and 
a  few  books. 

*'Gum  boots,  thigh"  are  furnished  by  the  Gov- 
ernment and  handed  over  to  the  battery  when  we 
go  into  the  line,  and  I  carry  a  little  oilskin  jacket 
to  wear  with  them.    A  canvas  washbasin  and  the 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       235 

bed  made  in  the  valise  completes  all  that  Is  neces- 
sary to  make  life  comfortable — and  the  limit  that 
can  be  toted  without  worry. 

The  equipment  "worn  by  the  officer"  and 
"carried  on  officer's  charger"  as  the  Field  Service 
Pocket  book  puts  it,  I  have  left  out  of  the  list  to 
give  you  separate.  When  we  parade  in  "March- 
ing Order,"  I  wear  the  following: — 

Sam  Browne  belt,  on  which  are  carried  a  re- 
volver, prismatic  glasses,  ammunition  pouch  and 
electric  torch.  Two  gas  helmets  in  satchel,  water- 
bottle,  haversack. 

And  on  the  horse : — Two  feeds  for  him,  mess 
tin,  oilskin  rolled  on  back  of  saddle,  saddle  wal- 
lets on  front,  ammunition  pouches  on  sides. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  never  turn  out  in  the  regu- 
lation "Christmas  tree"  at  all,  at  all.  I  carry  my 
pistol,  glasses  and  torch  on  my  belt  just  to  make 
a  bluff,  and  one  gas  helmet,  of  course,  always;  but 
a  haversack  I  never  have  used  yet,  and  my  water 
bottle  I  always  make  fast  on  to  the  near  side  of 
my  saddle.  When  I  go  up  to  the  trenches  I  carry 
my  revolver  and  glasses  on  an  old  comfortable 
web  belt  I  picked  up  out  of  a  salvage  pile  at 
Loos,  and  slip  a  book  Into  the  little  cloth  satchel 
alongside  my  gas  helmet.  In  short — I  don't  carry 
any  more  than  I  have  to. 

I  hope  you  and  Carey  will  have  a  glorious  time 
figuring  this  all  out,  and  when  I  tell  you  that  my 
servant,  an  ungrammatical  but  faithful  Cockney 
named  Turner,  does  my  washing  and  mending 
quite  well,  and  that  it's  possible  to  replace  most 
worn  out  and  lost  clothing  quickly  and  cheaply  out 


236        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

of  Ordnance,  I  know  you  will  feel  greatly  relieved 
on  the  score  of  my  comfort. 

Fondest  love, 

From 

Habs. 

To  Lucile, 

B.  E.  F., 

8th  April,  1916. 

Dearest, 

We  have  been  in  action  here  for  a  week  now 
— ten  miles  south  of  the  old  place  and  a  very  much 
healthier  part  of  the  line. 

We  have  a  Church  of  England  Chaplain  at- 
tached to  the  battery — a  youngster  and  an  awfully 
decent  chap;  been  with  us  for  a  month  now  and 
we  have  a  lot  of  fun  with  him.  And  this  brings 
me  round  to  a  subject  that  must  be  of  the  greatest 
possible  interest  to  you — speaking  of  Chaplains. 

The  Chaplain  at  the  front  is  not  present  in 
great  numbers.  There  are  about  twelve  to  a 
Division  (twenty  thousand  men) — say  four  Ro- 
man Catholics,  four  Church  of  England,  and  four 
Non-conformists.  Every  Sunday  there  are  com- 
pulsory church  parades,  and  I  have  as  yet  failed 
to  find  a  single  man  of  Protestant  persuasion 
whose  religion  means  anything  whatsoever  to  him. 
Church  parades  are  the  most  completely  per- 
functory affairs  that  I  have  ever  seen  in  my  life. 
The  men  hate  them  like  poison  and  growl  mightily 
at  being  drawn  for  them. 

The  experience  of  all  these  non-Catholic  Chap- 
lains is  alike  in  this — they  meet  with  the  most 
desperate  sort  of  discouragement  in  their  work 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      237 

out  here  that  it  would  be  possible  to  Imagine.  Re- 
spect, of  course,  they  get  on  all  sides,  and  com- 
radeship. But  it  is  a  problem  to  me  how  any  of 
them  can  last  six  months  without  complete  disillu- 
sionment. Contrast  this  with  what  I  am  now  go- 
ing to  tell  you. 

Of  late  I  have  been  shooting  over  an  Irish  regi- 
ment which  (an  ancient  privilege)  has  its  own 
Chaplain,  and  imagine  my  delight  to  find  him  an 
old  friend  and  mentor  of  my  Father  Tim's  of 
Beaumont.  Father  Doyle  is  his  name,  an  English 
Jesuit,  and  in  the  two  or  three  nights  that  we 
have  bunked  together,  I  have  howled  with  joy 
over  his  tales  of  the  Catholic  side  of  the  case. 
This  good  man,  instead  of  having  to  work  up 
interest  in  the  minds  of  his  fighting  parish,  is 
worked  hard  to  satisfy  their  spiritual  needs. 
Every  morning  he  says  mass  for  the  reserve  com- 
pany behind  the  trenches  at  which  every  free  man 
is  present  a  couple  of  times  each  week.  Every 
evening  he  says  the  Rosary  In  the  front  line  fire 
trench  for  the  whole  battalion,  and  at  the  end 
administers  General  Absolution  to  every  man 
there. 

Quite  as  often  as  not,  he  Is  cut  down  to  two  or 
three  decades  of  the  Rosary  by  hostile  shelling, 
and  once,  at  least,  men  have  been  killed  and 
wounded  by  German  fire  while  It  was  being  said. 
Add  to  this  that  when  they  are  out  at  rest,  every 
man  comes  faithfully  to  the  Sacraments,  and  that 
in  times  of  strafeing  this  Intrepid  Priest  goes 
straight  to  the  front  line,  and  absolves  the 
wounded  and  the  dying,  and  you  have  a  picture  of 


238        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

what  the  Church  can  mean  to  men  of  faith  In  the 
midst  of  sudden  death.  He  has  told  me  that  some 
of  the  acts  of  contrition  of  the  wounded  men  have 
been  the  most  wonderful  things  he  has  ever  lis- 
tened to — perfect  contrition,  such  as  he  never  be- 
fore thought  could  be  put  Into  words  at  all. 

I  know  what  joy  this  news  will  bring  to  your 
dear  heart,  and  I  have  told  him  about  you.  Dear- 
est, and  of  your  faith. 

The  other  morning  I  was  at  Mass  just  behind 
the  lines — two  planes  overhead  low  all  the  time; 
machine  guns  from  the  Bosch  trenches  popping 
away  to  beat  the  band;  an  occasional  shell  some- 
where In  rear — the  whole  thing  was  dramatic! 

My  own  Ideas  have  not  changed,  dearest — but 
I  love  the  Church  and  Her  priests  and  Her  Faith 
— and  these  things  give  me  joy  to  see  and  to  tell 
to  you. 

Fondest,  dearest  love, 

From 

Habs. 

To  Lucile  and  David, 

B.  E.  F., 

Easter  Sunday,  1916. 

My  Dearest  "Guardians,*' 

Some  days  ago  I  was  having  a  stroll  behind  my 
O.  P.  on  top  of  the  big  hill  (from  the  other  side  of 
which  I  saw  the  spires  of  the  town  [Lille]  once 
the  stamping  ground  of  Papa,  Dave  and  Loll, 
(Laurence  Schell)  and  where  H.  P.  Bradford  Is 
now  engaged  at  the  American  Relief  Station) 
when  I  saw  a  familiar  figure  In  shrapnel-proof 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      239 

helmet,  followed  by  a  younger  officer,  enter  the 
other  corner  of  the  field  and  come  walking  down 
towards  me  in  the  shelter  of  the  hedge.  I  spotted 
the  Star  and  Crown  of  a  Lieutenant  Colonel  on 
his  sleeve,  so  I  cHcked  my  heels  together  and  sa- 
luted in  the  approved  form  as  laid  down  in  the 
King's  Regulations,  and  promptly  demanded  his 
pass  (which  Is  required  when  visiting  an  O.  P.  a 
measure  contre  espionage) . 

He  didn't  have  one  but  introduced  himself  in- 
stead. ^Tm  Colonel  Winston  Churchill — this  is 
Major  Sinclair,  my  second  in  command." 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said,  "I  recognized  you.  Sir,"  and 
turning,  I  led  the  late  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty 
Into  my  dugout. 

You  probably  have  a  fair  idea  of  his  career. 

In  this  war  he  is  the  man  who  ordered  the 
Review  of  the  Grand  Fleet  at  Splthead,  on  the 
30th  of  July,  and  on  the  night  of  August  3rd,  in- 
stead of  dispersing  to  their  hundred  stations,  sent 
the  whole  lot  to  bottle  up  the  German  Navy,  so 
that,  on  the  morning  of  the  5th,  when  the  War 
opened,  Britannia  held  command  of  the  seas. 

He  can't  be  over  forty — looks  about  thirty-five 
— and  I've  wanted  to  meet  him  for  a  long  while. 
He  is  a  great  friend  of  Mr.  Garvin's,  and  Is,  as 
you  know,  half  American. 

He  wanted  to  see  the  country  we  were  shooting 
over  (his  Battalion  being  just  on  our  right)  so  I 
pointed  out  the  trenches,  farms,  redoubts,  etc., 
for  a  half  hour,  and  then  he  asked  me  If  I  had 
been  through  Loos.  I  acknowledged  I  had, 
through  the  centre  of  It,  to  be  precise,  and  added 


240        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

that  that  gory  scene  was  my  first  Introduction  to 
the  staff  work  of  the  British  Army.  He  looked 
at  me  keenly  for  a  minute,  smiling,  and  asked  me 
whether  I  was  Canadian  or  American,  and  when 
I  answered  that  I  had  the  honor  of  being  an 
American  Citizen,  he  was  pleased  as  punch — > 
claimed  kinship  on  behalf  of  himself  and  Major 
Sinclair,  who  also  had  an  American  mother,  and 
asked  me  for  a  history  of  the  crime. 

So  I  told  him  of  how  I  nearly  went  to  him  for 
my  commission  in  the  first  place  (thro'  Mr. 
Garvin)  but  got  it  without  having  to  bother  any- 
body— and  he  told  me  he  had  commissioned  sev- 
eral Americans  in  the  Royal  Naval  Division,  one 
of  whom  got  the  V.  C.  at  Gallipoll,  and  that  he 
wanted  to  enlist  some  American  Regiments  in 
Canada  under  American  Ofl^cers  at  the  start  of 
the  War,  believing  it  would  do  a  lot  of  good, 
but  the  others  wouldn't  stand  for  it  (It  has  since 
been  done). 

Sinclair  (Major  Sir  Archibald,  to  give  him  his 
full  name)  asked  If  I  had  taken  any  oath  of 
allegiance,  and  I  was  glad  to  be  able  to  say  I 
had  not.  .  .  . 

Last  night — four  days  later — I  went  over  to 
dine.  They  have  very  decent  battalion  Head- 
quarters In  an  old  farm  about  600  yards  from 
the  Front  Line,  heavily  fortified  with  sandbags, 
and  as  the  evening  was  very  quiet  the  dinner  party 
was  undisturbed,  and  altogether  one  of  the 
pleasantest  times  I've  had  out  here. 

The  Colonel  opened  a  couple  of  bottles  of  very 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      241 

good  champagne,  and  I  went  off  the  water  wagon 
and  enjoyed  it  hugely.  Of  course  we  talked 
principally  of  the  States,  and  their  attitude  to- 
wards the  War,  a  little  on  the  President  and  his 
administration;  looked  forward  to  the  coming  elec- 
tion and  considered  the  Colonel  (Roosevelt)  etc. 
But  later  the  talk  drifted  around  to  the  early 
Naval  side  of  the  War:  the  loss  of  Craddock's 
Fleet  in  the  Pacific  and  all  the  ins  and  outs  of 
the  subsequent  traps  laid  for  von  Spec,  culminating 
in  the  destruction  of  his  Fleet  off  the  Falkland 
Isles,  and  the  exciting  chase  of  the  Dresden  into 
Chilian  waters,  where  she  too  was  sunk.  I  learned 
a  great  deal  which  has  never  become  common 
news,  which  I  cannot  tell  you  now,  but  please  God, 
I'll  have  that  and  a  lot  more  to  tell  you — one 
night ! 

After  dinner  we  drew  back  around  the  fire,  and 
in  the  first  whiskey  the  Colonel  caught  my  eye 
and  proposed  "Hail  Columbia" — I  replied,  "God 
Save  the  King";  and  the  international  toast  being 
completed,  we  dropped  the  past  and  turned  to  that 
most  fascinating  of  all  subjects,  especially  at  this 
time — the  Future! 

He  did  not  attempt  to  prophesy,  but  he  con- 
firmed my  own  belief  that  the  War  will  go  on  a 
very  long  time  yet — into  19 18  anyhow,  barring 
always,  the  remote  chance  of  a  revolution  in  Ger- 
many, or  the  not  quite  so  remote  chance  of  the 
States'  entry  into  the  War,  which  we  all  know 
would  shorten  it  at  least  a  year.  The  Colonel 
surprised  me  by  saying  we  were  bound  to  do  it 
sooner  or  later — myself,  I  have  pretty  well  lost 


242        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

hope,  though  I  desire  It  above  all  things  in  the 
world. 

If  I  could  live  to  see  our  own  dear  Country 
fighting  side  by  side  with  England  and  France — 
well,  I  wouldn't  ask  anything  more,  except  the 
chance  to  get  In  a  few  licks  under  the  Stars  and 
Stripes.  Right  here  I'm  going  to  leave  Colonel 
Churchill's  dinner  table  (which  I  didn't  do  that 
night  until  ii  130)  and  state  my  faith  to  you  on 
this  subject. 

Dearest  Guardians — ^your  ward  is  all  for  Peace, 
and  by  Peace  I  mean  the  genuine  article  that 
Christ  called  for.  Not  Bill  Bryan's  brand,  nor 
Henry  Ford's  pipe  dream,  nor  the  Kaiser's  substi- 
tute ;  but  Peace  for  the  nations  based  upon  the  doc- 
trine of  fair  play,  and  mutual  toleration,  and  guar- 
anteed by  the  might  of  the  aUIance  of  these  great 
peoples  that  desire  itj  for  themselves  and  for 
others. 

The  peace  that  existed  In  Europe  before  this 
War  was  a  disgrace  to  the  name — a  lie  to  its  true 
intention,  and  there  is  always  a  danger  that  a  like 
condition  may  prevail  again.  Now  I'm  no 
Utopian  and  I  can't  see  this  as  the  last  War,  be- 
cause the  East  is  always  separate,  and  a  threat  for 
the  Future.  I  do  believe,  though,  if  we  only 
deserve  It,  this  will  be  the  last  great  war  between 
the  white  nations. 

But  Russia  Is  great,  and  is  not  bound  to  us  in- 
definitely, and  unless  the  HohenzoUerns  are  driven 
out,  Germany  can  never  be  trusted  again. 

On  the  other  hand,  France  and  England  are 
irrevocably    bound    together    by    ties    of    blood, 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       243 

mutual  Interest  and  mutual  Ideals  and  the  United 
States  surely  shares  the  first  and  last  of  these  ties, 
and  If  she  will  openly  take  her  place  with  these 
two  great  friends  in  this  fight  for  the  World's 
freedom,  I  tell  you  that  the  first  American  blood 
which  falls  on  Belgian  battle  fields  will  bind  these 
three  Into  an  aUIance  which  will  endure  while 
the  world  endures.  Their  aggregate  might  In 
the  world's  councils,  on  the  side  of  Justice  and 
Liberty  will  guarantee  a  peace  throughout  the 
Western  World  that  none  will  ever  dare  to 
threaten. 

Au  revoir,  dearest  ones — 

Devotedly  always, 

Habs. 


To  Lucile, 


B.   E.   F., 
20th  April,    1916. 


Dearest, 

My  last  was  dated  all  wrong.  It  wasn't  Easter 
Sunday  at  all,  but  Palm  Sunday  and  that  just  goes 
to  show^  how  little  the  date  signifies  out  here. 
The  skipper  (his  Captain)  told  me  It  was  Easter, 
and  I  was  horrified — It  was  mid-afternoon.  Never 
mind,  the  real  Easter  rolled  up  yesterday  and  I 
got  over  to  one  of  the  most  beautiful  open  air 
Masses  I  have  ever  seen,  said  by  Father  Doyle. 

Half  his  regiment  was  present,  the  other  half 
having  attended  early  Mass  (they  are  out  of 
the  trenches)  and  In  the  Interim  he  journeyed 
round  the  camp  and  gave  Communion  to  the  sen- 
tries— kneeling  with  a  rifle  and  fixed  bayonet.     It 


244        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

was  stirring.     Needless  to  say  I  prayed  for  your 
happiness. 

Of  course  I've  been  tremendously  interested  In 
the  accounts  of  Captain  Buckleton  and  Paul 
Verdler.  Yes,  I  did  send  a  message  to  Paul  and 
hope  maybe  to  run  Into  him  yet.  If  you  gave 
him  my  address,  he  will  get  In  touch  with  me. 
He's  a  great  boy.  I'll  look  up  "Buck"  if  I  ever 
get  the  chance,  be  sure. 

Always  devotedly, 

Habs. 


To  his  Sister  Georgie, 

Mrs,  Karmany,  at  Mare  Island, 

B.  E.  F., 

24th  April,  1 911 6. 

DoBBiE  Dear, 

I've  never  written  a  word  of  thanks  for  all 
those  noble  groceries  that  Gookle  got  with  your 
check  for  my  Christmas  present. 

The  fact  that  they  are  the  one  remaining 
package  that  did  not  come  through,  leaves  me 
none  the  less  grateful,  dearest,  and  it  was  sweet  of 
you  as  ever  to  squander  a  five-spot  for  Habs. 

I  see  you've  been  entertaining  the  interned 
Bosch  Lieutenant.  That  is  nice,  because  If  I 
should  happen  to  come  home  on  leave  any  time, 
you  will  be  able  to  introduce  us,  and  then  Fritz 
and  I  can  stroll  out  on  to  the  golf  course  and  have 
a  nice,  comfortable  shoot  at  each  other.  Prob- 
ably the  Colonel  would  be  willing  to  lend  us  a 
couple  of  machine  guns  for  the  purpose, — espe- 
cially since   we   would  undoubtedly  provide   the 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      245 

links  with  some  splendid  new  bunkers  In  the  shape 
of  our  opposing  trenches. 
Best  love  to  the  Colonel. 

Always  devotedly, 

Habs. 


To  Lucile. 

B.  E.  F., 

3rd  May,  1916. 

Dearest, 

Ten  days  since  my  last  letter,  but  you've  got 
nothing  on  me  at  that  because  I  haven't  had  an 
American  letter  for  a  week  myself. 

The  interval  has  been  quite  exciting,  however, 
the  Bosch  having  favored  us  with  three  gas 
attacks  on  this  front — the  first  being  a  false 
alarm,  the  second  a  pukka  attack  with  heavy  shell- 
fire,  infantry  out  of  the  trenches,  and  all  the 
thrills,  and  the  third  a  small  affair  In  which  he 
just  let  off  a  little  that  he  had  left  over  from 
the  main  affair.    I'll  tell  you  about  the  main  show. 

Time — 10:30  P.  M. 

Scene — A  tubular  dugout  on  top  of  the  high 
hill  overlooking  the  trenches,  same  being  my  O. 
P.  In  the  centre,  a  table  on  which  is  spread  an 
artillery  map.  Asleep  on  a  bed  in  one  corner,  an 
Officer  (muh!).  In  the  opposite  corner  a  drowsy 
signaller  is  discovered  at  his  telephone  Instru- 
ment. 

Voice  over  telephone— ABX—ABX—ABX I 
Priority  message  all  batteries.  (Signaller  pricks 
up  his  ears  and  listens  to  the  message.) 

"A  prisoner  who  deserted  from  the  German 


246         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

lines  this  afternoon  has  been  examined  at  Division 
Headquarters.     He  states  that  the  enemy  have 

the  whole  front  line  from  to  dug  in 

with  gas  cylinders  and  that  they  are  going  to  let 
it  off  some  time  during  the  night — the  wind  being 
now  favorable — all  batteries  will  double  sentries 
and  stand  by  the  guns — S.  O.  S.  guard  to  be 
doubled.     Acknowledge." 

Signaller — (gently  stirring  me).  "Sir — Sir — 
Gas  alert — message  just  came  through.  There's 
a  German  prisoner  captured,  etc.,  etc." 

Me — "All  right,  all  right.  Hell  and  damna- 
tion! Go  and  call  the  Sergeant  of  the  S.  O.  S. 
Guard." 

(Roll  out  of  bed  and  put  on  my  boots.) 

Sergeant  appears  at  the  door. 

"Turn  out  your  guard  and  working  party  and 
I'll  inspect  their  helmets."     (It  is  done). 

Telephone— "XY—XY—XY—XY." 

Signaller — "Hello,  hello — Wanted  on  the 
phone,  sir." 

(I  pick  up  the  phone). 

Voice — "Captain  speaking — They've  just 
caught  a  German  prisoner" 

Me — (Cutting  in) — "Yes,  I  got  the  message, 
Sir." 

Captain — "All  right,  be  on  the  alert.  Good 
night." 

I  roll  a  cigarette  and  sit  down  in  comfort  to 
await  the  gas  signals. 

Telephone— "XY—XY—XY !" 

Signaller— "Hello,  Hello,  yes— Wanted,  Sir." 

I  pick  up  the  phone. 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      247 

Voice — ^'Colonel  speaking — have  you  got  that 
message  about ?" 

Me — (Cutting  In) — "Yes,  sir,  got  it — waiting 
for  the  gas  now." 

Colonel — "All  right, — keep  on  the  qui  vive — 
Goodnight!" 

(I  continue  my  cigarette.) 

Telephone— "XY—XY—XY—XY !" 

Signaller— Hello,  Hello,— Yes— Wanted,  Sir." 

I  pick  up  the  phone. 

Voice — "Adjutant  speaking — they've  just 
caught  a  German  prisoner " 

Me— (Cutting  in) — "All  right,  I  know  all 
about  It — who  started  this  damned  show  any- 
way?" 

Adjutant — "All  right — keep  your  shirt  on. 
Good  night." 

(I  light  another  cigarette  and  glance  at  the 
watch — 12  115.) 

Signaller — (hearing  a  frog  croaking  outside) 
— "Is  that  the  gas  horns,  sir?" 

Me— "No." 

Telephone— "XY—XY—XY—XY !" 

Signaller — "Hello,  hello!     Yes,  sir.     Wanted, 


sir." 


(I  pick  up  the  phone.) 

Voice — "Captain  Lucas  speaking — I  just 
wanted  to  know  if  you'd  gotten  a  message  to  be 
on " 

Me — (Cutting  In) — "Yes, — good  night!" 

(I  resume  my  cigarette.) 

My  cigarette  goes  out. 

I  light  another. 


248        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 

I  feel  sleepy. 

I  curse  the  Bosch. 

On  second  thought  I  curse  the  telephone. 

Telephone— ''XY—XY—XY—XY !" 

Signaller — "Hello,  Hello.  Yes,  sir.  Here,  sir. 
—Wanted  Sir.'' 

I  curse  the  phone  again. 

I  pick  up  the  phone. 

Voice — "Orderly  officer  speaking — They've 
just  been  examining  a  Bosch  prisoner  at  Divisional 
Headquarters.    He  says  that " 

From  the  trenches  comes  the  startling  note  of  a 
Klaxon  Horn — B-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r !   Br!   B-r-r-r-r! 

Half  a  dozen  machine  guns  open  up  and  are 
drowned  in  a  crash  of  the  opening  German  bom- 
bardment. 

Orderly  officer  (trailing  on) — "that  the  Ger- 
mans have  got " 

Me — "All  right,  shut  up.  Here's  your  damn 
gas — she's  turned  loose  on  the  whole  front  and 
you'll  have  it  with  you  in  a  minute !  I  hope  it 
chokes  the  lot  of  you  I  Open  up  your  gun  fire 
there!" 

Orderly  officer — "Hey,  where  is  it  coming 
from? — How  fast  is  it  coming? — Has  it  reached 
you  yet?" 

A  high  pitched  hissing  note  advises  me  that  the 
Bosch  is  putting  a  barrage  over  our  heads  behind 
the  hill  and  a  minute  later  the  wires  are  cut  by 
the  same. 

Me — "Thank  the  Lord — free  from  the  bloody 
telephone  anyway."  (Singing  out)  "Get  your  gas 
helmets  out  and  put  'em  on  top  of  your  heads." 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      249 

(To  the  extra  signallers) — "Get  out  and  mend  the 
break,  but  don't  take  too  many  chances " 

Enter  Ludlow  (Same  chap  who  was  forward 
with  me  at  Loos)  from  Right  Battery  O.  P. 

"Hello,  Ludlow,  your  wires  busted  too — 
Hooray!     Let's  get  out  and  see  the  show." 

— Which  we  did.  Picked  a  nice  grassy  spot  in 
front  of  the  hedge  and  peeled  our  eyes. 

The  whole  line  of  trenches  curving  around  the 
foot  of  the  hill  and  stretching  away  Into  the  dis- 
tance is  lit  up  by  the  bursting  shells  and  the  star 
rockets,  and  by  the  light  of  these  we  could  oc- 
casionally catch  glimpses  of  the  clouds  of  gas 
rolling  out  over  our  lines.  At  the  base  of  the 
hill  the  cloud  divides  and  flows  around  it,  leav- 
ing us  on  an  island  of  blessed  pure  air.  Away  on 
the  right  a  building  bursts  into  flame  and  by  its 
light  everything  shows  up  with  stagey  fire  effect. 

Three  batteries  of  ours  are  shooting  right  over 
our  heads,  and  on  top  of  the  hill  the  shells  are 
passing  very  low — each  one  visible,  for  all  the 
world  like  a  baby  meteor — and  the  whole  combine 
to  make  a  beautiful,  if  rather  terrible  sight — ter- 
rible because  it's  none  too  sweet  for  our  poor 
damned  infantry  In  the  front  trenches  where  the 
cloud  is  thickest,  and  knowing  that  they  will  soon 
be  charged  by  a  frightened  but  entirely  dangerous 
crowd  of  Bosches  and  always  containing  the 
Interesting  element  for  us,  that  if  the  attack  is 
really  going  to  amount  to  anything,  they  will  put 
a  heavy  shell  fire  on  our  O.  P.'s  as  soon  as  it  be- 
comes light  enough  to  observe. 


250        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

But  I  didn't  believe  it  would  amount  to  this, 
and  It  didn't — after  an  hour,  the  shell  fire  com- 
menced to  let  up,  and  half  an  hour  later  it  was 
all  over  but  the  shouting! 

Net  result  next  day — 

Enemy  debouched  from  his  trenches  only  in 
spots — casualties  almost  nix  considering  the  ex- 
travagance of  the  show — but  the  whole  country 
bleached  out  to  a  light  yellow  and  the  lovely 
Springtime  spoiled — which  is  the  Bosch  all  over — 
no  eye  for  the  beauties  of  Nature  at  all.  The  bat- 
tery was  gassed,  and  the  cow  that  gives  my  morn- 
ing milk  killed — Strafe  the  Hun! 

And  this  is  all.  Been  quite  quiet  ever  since,  ex- 
cept that  they  loosed  their  little  remaining  gas  next 
night  with  no  accompanying  shell  fire  and  there's 
just  now  come  another  "alert"  over  the  wire  and 
I've  got  to  go  and  inspect  helmets  again — but 
ril  bet  my  bottom  dollar  there's  no  more  gas. 

Well,  good  night,  dearest.  My  birthday  was 
lovely — I  rolled  off  the  wagon  and  we  had  a 
very  nice  dinner  and  sing-song. 

I  don't  expect  the  boxes  for  a  little  while  yet. 
Fondest  love  from 

Habs. 


To  E.  C.  O'S. 

British  Expeditionary  Force, 
3rd  May,  1916. 

Dearest  Stepmother, 

No,  we  are  not  ''in  the  middle  of  things"  but 
a  little  further  south. 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT      251 

Yes,  I  don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  work 
three  months'  leave  to  go  home  next  Christmas. 
There  have  been  eight  officers  and  men  home  on 
long  leave  in  San  Francisco  since  the  war  broke 
out,  most  of  them  acquaintances  of  mine,  and  I'm 
no  good  as  a  medicine  mixer  if  I  can't  work  it  too. 
To  be  sure  most  of  them  were  wounded  but  I  can't 
get  a  "blighty"  on  demand,  and  hope  that  what 
I  can't  help  won't  stand  in  my  way. 

To  apply  through  the  usual  channels  would  be 
hopeless  of  course,  but  I  have  a  letter  to  our 
Assistant  Adjutant  General  whom  I  will  see  next 
time  I  get  back,  and  you  could  keep  your  eye 
open  for  the  right  man  to  furnish  the  right  pull. 
Grounds  on  which  the  favor  will  be  asked  : 

I  am  an  American. 

ril  have  twenty  months'  service  **in" — (fifteen 
active). 

The  summer  will  be  over  and  all  the  three 
months  will  come  in  the  quiet  rainy  season. 

Last,  but  not  least,  I  want  to  see  my  folks  again 
for  a  little  while — and  don't  care  about  my  "pay 
while  away."  (D.  V.  I'll  have  £100  at  Brother 
Cox's  by  then.) 

So  just  see  how  you  can  work  it,  dear  step- 
mother, and  don't  tell  the  family,  nor  any  one 
else  anything  about  it.  I  haven't  even  thought 
about  it  myself,  except  to  decide  to  have  a  try  for 
it  when  the  time  comes,  and  to  mention  It  to  you. 
D.  V. — It  would  be  ^'bon  sport"  for  us  to  make 
the  trip  together. 

Fondest  love  from 

Harry. 


252         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 
To  E.  C.  O'S. 

British  Expeditionary  Force, 

8th  May,  1916. 

Dearest  Stepmother, 

Your  parcel  came  four  days  ago  and  was  per- 
fectly lovely;  whether  you've  got  ten  or  a  hun- 
dred dollars  I  should  say  you  couldn't  do  better 
than  the  Log  Cabin  Syrup,  canned  tomato  soup, 
and  canned  plum  puddings.  They  seem  to  be  the 
greatest  luxuries  and  it  is  always  a  gala  day  when 
a  consignment  from  you  comes  to  hand. 

You  poor  dear — you  must  be  sick  about  this 
Sinn  Fein  business.  I  guess  it's  a  true  case  of — 
the  sins  of  the  fathers  (headed  by  the  late  father 
Oliver  Cromwell)  being  visited  on  the  (innocent 
English)  children  of  to-day — at  a  time  when  it 
hurts  most.  But  I  have  yet  to  come  across  any 
one  who  wants  to  curse  Ireland  for  it;  every  one 
Tve  seen  thinks  it's  plain  hell  on  John  Redmond, 
and  wants  to  forget  about  it  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible— once  the  real  traitors  are  dead.  Perhaps 
I  should  except  my  beloved  regiment  of  Lein- 
sters,  that  I  shoot  over  so  often,  for  they  look 
black  enough  and  are  all  for  going  back  and 
personally  shooting  up  the  rebels.  My  only  fear 
is  for  our  home — that  a  few  of  the  blackmailing 
brethren  may  turn  it  to  Germany's  use  over  there. 

A  letter  from  you  is  always  an  event  and  this 
one  was  more  so  than  usual.  I  didn't  bother  you 
with  my  birthday  because  it's  always  been  made 
too  much  of,   and   I   hesitated  to   add  to  your 


LETTERS  253 

troubles.  But  I  too  am  glad  that  I  am  April 
born — the  names  you  mention  of  those  with  whom 
I  keep  company  are  very  great  gentlemen. 

(The  names  were  those  of  my  father,  my  hus- 
band, Mr.  Garvin,  Mr.  W.  R.  Le  Fanu,  Mr, 
Shakespeare  and  Mr.  Cervantes, — E,  C,  O'S,) 


To  Lucile, 

B.  E.  F., 

9th  May,  1916. 

Dearest  Gookie, 

Say — ' 

Do  you  know  that  your  letters  have  been 
getting  just  a  wee  bit  measly  as  to  space  lately? 
I  know  that  you've  been  working  yourself  to  death 
over  these  damned  charity  stunts,  but  just  the 
same  you've  got  to  fill  up  a  few  more  pages  for 
Habs  on  the  average.  You  haven't  really  talked 
to  me  for  a  month — only  given  me  the  news  and 
that  isn't  the  nicest  kind  of  letter  even  if  it  has 
come  oftener.  So  the  next  time  my  hours  of  the 
week  roll  around — Break  away — Break  away 
from  the  'phone  and  Clare  and  French  orphans — 
and  roll  out  a  little  heart  to  heart,  dear.  I  know 
you  must  have  something  to  chin  with  Habs  about, 
because  it's  so  long  since  you  sprung  the  last 
one — 

I  apologise  and  am  ashamed  of  myself — 

Over  here  this  week  very  little  to  record. 
Erny's  letters  re  the  Skipper's  departure  give  me 
something  to  arrange — so  I  must  go  over  and 


254         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

call  on  "Winston"  again  soon  and  find  out  what 
branch  of  the  half-dozen  Naval  Auxiliary  Services 
he  should  connect  with,  and  if  possible  get  a 
letter  to  arrange  the  matter. 

Under  the  influence  of  a  few  days'  gentle  rain 
the  countryside  is  regaining  its  green  and  cover- 
ing up  the  traces  of  late  gas  attack. 

I  read  my  Life  and  Post  and  the  American 
News  with  the  keenest  anticipation.     Great  things 
are  forming  in  the  distance  and  I  pray  that  Ger- 
many may  be  caught  in  a  net  of  her  own  making. 
Fondest  love,  dearest, 

From 

Habs. 

P.  S. — I  feel  I  ought  to  write  all  about  this 
pitiful  Sinn  Fein  business  with  its  horrid  stroke  at 
the  real  Irish  patriots  and  fighters,  but  I  guess 
Stepmother  will  clear  it  up. 


To  Lucile. 

B.  E.  F., 

17th  May,  1 91 6. 

Dearest, 

All  quiet  on  the  western  front  and  I  dare  say 
you'll  think  I've  been  pretty  quiet  too — for  about 
ten  days. 

We  are  settling  down  to  It,  I  expect,  a  big  job  to 
be  done  and  no  hope  In  life  for  ourselves  or  the 
rest  of  the  world,  until  It's  accomplished.  So 
here's  to  it,  and  let's  send  the  yard  aloft  to  the 
tune  of  a  good  swingin'  chantey. 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       255 

And  really  I  feel  better  about  the  war  than  I 
have  for  a  long  while.  Not  that  I've  ever  had 
fears,  but  just  that  there's  so  damned  much  talk 
and  nothing  to  show  for  It.  The  Sinn  Fein  busi- 
ness, the  fall  of  Kut,  more  ships  sunk  and  our 
blockade  of  Germany  loose  as  ever — really  the 
one  bright  spot  in  this  whole  stormy  spring  has 
been  Verdun  and  that  has  not  been  England,  but 
France.  And  God  be  good  to  'em — the  French 
have  been  marvellous.  Great,  Big,  Wonderful, 
Invincible,  Glorious — one  runs  out  of  adjectives. 
What  they  faced  in  that  salient  will  not  be  known 
for  years — It  will  have  to  leak  out  In  drops  to 
be  understood.  A  full  description  would  cram  the 
brain  to  nauslty.  And  in  the  face  of  all  these 
bad  points,  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  things  will 
be  looking  up  soon.  It's  always  darkest  just  be- 
fore dawn,  and  I  must  say  I  really  look  for  the 
summer  to  see  the  great  work  well  begun. 

And   America — Heaven — how    I    watch    her  I 
God  grant  that  her  duty  become  clear. 
From 

Habs. 


To  Lucile, 

Belgium, 
30th  May,  1916. 
"Decoration  Day." 

Dearest, 

When  I  got  back  to  the  battery  the  day  after  I 
sent  my  letter  to  Carey — I  had  the  big  box 
brought  Into  the  mess  and  opened  It — and  what 


256         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

do  you  suppose  It  was?  No  more  nor  less  than 
the  box  of  groceries  that  was  Margie's  and 
Dobble's  Christmas  present,  shipped  from  home 
in  November  last,  six  months  ago.  Wouldn't  It 
kill  you? 

Well,  It  only  goes  to  show  that  nothing  Is  ever 
lost  In  England — only  delayed,  and  on  the 
strength  of  It  I've  written  Queen  Alexandra's 
F.  F.  F.  and  asked  'em  to  speed  up  the  dispatch  of 
the  birthday  box. 

The  groceries  were  perfectly  lovely — not  a  mis- 
take in  the  choice  of  a  single  article  and  all  "home 
products."  I  have  been  full  of  prunes,  figs,  ta- 
males  and  maple  syrup  ever  since  they  arrived  and 
the  supply  bids  fair  to  last  the  mess  a  fortnight 
or  more. 

This  has  been  the  principal  thing  of  note  for 
me  on  the  western  front  this  week.  The  fighting 
down  around  the  VImy  Ridge,  we  hear,  has  been 
quite  heavy  and  Verdun  continues — the  idea  of 
the  German  Staff  seems  to  be  to  "fight  It  out  on 
those  lines,  if  it  takes  all  summer,"  and  break 
France  by  sheer  weight  of  men,  metal  and  ferocity. 
They  seem  to  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  the 
Franco-British  line  in  the  west  is  one  and  In- 
separable— all  under  the  Immediate  command  of 
*'notre  Joffre"  and  that  when  he  feels  the  strain 
on  the  French  armies  becoming  too  strong — he 
has  the  reply  ready  to  his  hand.  And  for  this 
reason,  I  judge,  that  although  I  don't  believe  the 
actual  breaking  of  the  line  will  be  attempted,  yet 
the  summer  must  surely  see  some  rare  fighting  up 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT      257 

and  down  the  front,  which  will  be  productive,  we 
hope,  of  a  banner  crop  of  "good  Germans." 

If  it  is  not  stopped,  I  shall  probably  be  on  leave 
about  July  ist,  and  if  the  Skipper  slips  through 
safely,  that  will  mean  that  TU  see  him  In  town 
and  revive  old  traditions  for  a  few  days. 

It  Is  a  great  joy  to  know  that  my  letters  seem 
numerous  to  you,  dearest — yours  seem  to  arrive 
every  other  day. 

Always  devotedly, 

Habs. 


IX 

SHELL  SHOCK 

To  E.  C.  O'S. 

9th  June,  1916. 

Dearest  Stepmother, 

Nothing  less  than  a  calamity,  I  have  got  to 
tell  you — a  little  over  a  week  ago  I  got  such  a 
bad  time  in  a  shelling  that  it  (afterwards)  cost 
me  my  nerve.  This  comes  rather  as  a  jolt — but 
I  am  forced  to  realize  that  it  is  by  no  means  a 
sudden  shock,  but  only  the  culmination  of  the  long 
strain,  and  nerves  that  have  always  been  ex- 
tremely jumpy. 

The  upshot  of  It  Is  that  I  am  to  be  transferred 
back  to  the  Divisional  Ammunition  Column 
(whence  I  came,  by  the  way).  My  Colonel  has 
been  very  kind. 

So  it  seems  that  I  am  due  to  know  the  lesson 
of  humble  service. 

I've  written  the  Skipper  to  suggest  that  he  go 
down  to  Fishguard  and  spend  the  interval,  until  I 
get  over  on  leave,  with  Tom.  I've  no  doubt  they 
will  send  me  off  soon  after  I  join  the  column  (In 
the  next  couple  of  days  that  will  be)  as  my  time 
is  due  here  now,  and  I  need  the  few  days'  change. 

Don't  be  too  shocked  at  my  bad  luck — I  reckon 
I've  always  had  too  damn  much  vanity  and  low- 

258 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      259 

down  selfish  ambition  In  my  nature,  and  the  last 
week  has  certainly  served  to  knock  out  a  large 
portion  of  both;  and  If  It  doesn't  make  you  stop 
liking  me  I  can  stand  It. 

Will  let  you  know  my  arrival  date  as  soon  as 
I  get  It  myself. 

Best  love  to  Terry  and  Bids.     Always  your 
devoted 

Stepson. 


To  David  and  Lucile. 

Belgium,  15th  June,  1916. 

My  Dearest  Guardians, 

Two  weeks  since  I  sent  either  of  you  a  line — 
and  now  I've  got  some  very  bad  news  for  you, 
Indeed. 

After  nine  months'  active  service  and  a  little 
over  six  actually  In  the  line  with  my  battery,  as 
a  result  of  a  rather  bad  shelling  that  I  came  in 
for  on  the  last  day  of  May,  I  fell  into  such  a 
parlous  state  that  I  had  to  leave  the  Brigade. 
Five  days  ago  I  was  transferred  back  to  the 
Ammunition  Column — which  works  two  or  three 
miles  In  rear  of  the  trenches  and  rarely  comes 
under  fire. 

I  shall  not  attempt  to  write  a  detailed  account 
of  the  matter.  In  the  first  place  I  shrink  from 
living  over  again  in  mind  the  unhappy  half  hour 
that  was  the  occasion  of  my  smash,  and  In  the  sec- 
ond, I  have  no  desire  to  drag  you  through  It. 
Apres  la  guerre^  maybe — If  you  like. 


26o         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

It  was,  after  all,  nothing  very  terrible — situa- 
tions far  more  nerve  trying  and  dangerous  are 
occurring  hundreds  of  times  dally  on  this  battle 
front  and  men  are  standing  up  to  them.  This  time 
happened  to  be  the  culmination  of  the  strain  for 
me. 

What  happened  was  that  the  Bosch  started 
shelling  the  neighborhood  of  my  O.  P.  A  dugout 
nearby  was  blov/n  In  with  three  men  In  It  and  two 
of  the  signallers  and  myself  had  to  go  in  and  get 
them  out.  A  little  later  my  own  dugout  became 
the  target  and  we  had  to  abandon  it  and  get  them 
away  to  the  field  dressing.  There  were  several 
casualties. 

Always  before  this,  after  a  shelling,  I  have  been 
able  to  let  it  roll  off  my  back  once  it  Is  over.  The 
only  time  I  got  Into  a  bad  state  was  after  the 
seven  steady  weeks  of  Ypres,  and  then  my  leave 
came  just  in  time  and  gave  me  a  chance  to  forget 
it.     This  time  I  failed  to  recover  my  poise. 

The  next  day  it  was  my  turn  to  go  down  to 
the  wagon  lines,  and  I  hoped  that  the  week's  com- 
parative rest  would  set  me  up.  My  second  day 
down,  a  Bosch  balloon  observer  mistook  my  horse 
standings  for  a  heavy  gun  shelter  and  opened  on 
me  again  with  six  Inch.  I  lost  one  man  with  his 
foot  blown  off,  but  managed  to  get  the  horses 
away,  and  all  clear  with  no  further  casualties. 
This,  of  course,  added  to  the  strain,  and  before 
the  end  of  the  week,  through  lack  of  sleep  and  the 
trouble  preying  on  my  mind — I  had  to  take  my- 
self to  the  doctor. 

The  Brigade  M.  O.  pronounced  me  unfit  for 


LETTERS  AND   COMMENT      261 

duty — suffering  from  shell  shock  and  severe  nerve 
strain  and  advised  me  to  go  before  the  medical 
board,  resign  my  commission,  and  take  some 
months'  rest;  but  I  didn't  feel  that  I  could  do  this. 
It  was  too  much  like  quitting — and  although  I 
don't  suppose  that  I  will  be  able  to  face  shell-fire 
again  as  a  steady  thing — the  winning  of  the  war 
is  still  the  greatest  need  in  the  world  and  I  owe 
it  the  best  that  I  can  give,  no  matter  how  little 
that  may  be.  The  Ammunition  Column  Is  a  part 
of  the  Artillery  which  rarely  comes  under  fire  and 
it  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  do  the  work  there  all 
right. 

I  took  the  matter  up  to  my  Colonel,  and  he  hav- 
ing also  suffered  at  the  hands  of  the  Bosch,  was 
extremely  kind — saw  the  General  on  my  behalf 
and  five  days  later  I  found  myself  posted  away — 

Don't  be  too  badly  shocked  at  this  having  hap- 
pened to  me.  The  strain  of  modern  trench  war- 
fare Is  very  great  and  is  unceasing.  Day  or  night 
it  never  relaxes  and  although  you  can  seldom  put 
your  finger  on  the  cause — one  Is  physically  tired 
the  greater  part  of  the  time.  Men  stand  up  to  it 
in  various  ways — the  strength  of  religion,  lack  of 
imagination  or  natural  phlegmatic  temperament, 
a  sense  of  humor,  and  the  ability  to  bluff  one's 
self  out  of  it — are  the  usual  means  to  endurance. 

The  last  two  are  what  have  kept  me  going. 
But  given  a  highly  nervous  temperament  and 
the  damned  active  imagination  that  goes  with  it — 
the  chances  are  that  they  will  prove  your  down- 
fall sooner  or  later.     What  has  happened  to  me 


262         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

has  been  a  familiar  phenomenon  to  the  Medical 
Corps  on  both  sides  since  this  war  opened. 

Conversely  from  this — do  not  delude  your- 
selves Into  thinking  of  me  as  a  broken  hero.  It 
would  be  quite  Ironical,  because  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  have  broken  down  rather  easily.  It  Is  ex- 
tremely unfortunate — and  that's  about  all  there 
Is  to  it. 

During  that  first  bad  week  I  lived  with  some 
very  dark  thoughts.  Indeed,  for  company — but 
now  that  I  am  relieved  and  still  given  a  useful 
piece  of  the  great  work  to  do,  I  am  coming  out  of 
it.  A  lot  of  rosy  dreams  are  gone  galley-west,  of 
course,  but  then  the  most  futile  of  my  Illusions 
have  accompanied  them.  The  time  has  come  when 
I  find  that  I  must  take  myself  as  God  and  my 
ancestors  made  me — for  better  or  for  worse,  and 
in  the  full  realisation  of  my  deficiencies,  prepare 
to  be  content  with  my  equipment  and  to  live  my 
life  along  such  lines  as  will  contribute  the  greatest 
amount  of  good  to  the  world  in  which  I  live.  At 
present,  this  means  looking  after  the  bodily  wel- 
fare and  military  efficiency  of  some  hundred 
horses  and  eighty  men  of  the  D.  A.  C. 

Will  you  circulate  this  letter  through  our  gen- 
eral list,  and  let  my  friends  know  that  I  have  left 
the  fighting  forces,  and  am  tending  ammunition 
for  the  good  of  my  soul  and  the  future  discom- 
fiture of  the  Bosch — until  further  notice. 
Always  devotedly, 

Habs. 

Hope  to  get  on  leave  in  four  days  and  to  see 
Tom,  the  Skipper  and  Stepmother. 


X 

LAST  LEAVE 

When  Harry  came  to  Number  7  he  was,  for 
him,  extraordinarily  quiet.  He  had  gone  through 
fire,  literally  and  figuratively.  But  one  looked  in 
vain  for  any  exterior  trace  of  it  beyond  this  un- 
usual silence. 

We  kept  him  busy  and  amused.  Fortunately  he 
had  the  Skipper  on  his  mind.  Captain  Fleming 
having  made  the  long  sea  journey  from  San  Fran- 
cisco to  offer  himself  to  the  Naval  AuxiHary  Serv- 
ice in  England. 

By  now,  too,  the  boy  had  a  wide  London  circle 
of  enthusiastic  friends  to  occupy  him.  But  it  was 
in  long  talks  at  evening  when  the  house  was  still 
that  the  shuddering  history  of  that  appalling  last 
May  night  could  be  realised. 

The  experience  had  cut  across  his  spirit  like 
a  whip  lash.  It  was  long  before  the  curiously 
hurt  look,  like  a  child's,  sHpped  away  from  his 
eyes. 

But  rest  and  change,  the  delighted  pride  we 
all  felt  in  him,  his  own  invincible  gaiety,  won  a 
gradual  triumph.  It  would  have  been  easy  to  get 
a  three  weeks'  extension  of  his  leave,  but  the  boy 
was  firm  in  keeping  to  his  original  seven  days. 

263 


264        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

The  last  night  of  his  visit  was  a  real  bit  of 
California;  the  half  dozen  of  us — Harry,  the 
Skipper,  Tom  Evans,  Clarence  Carrlgan,  Mrs. 
Eleanor  Egan — knew  the  Golden  Gate  as  we  did 
Lansdowne  Road — all  of  us  knew  beloved  Pied- 
mont. Harry  was  once  more  his  rollicking  keen 
self;  the  nonsense  and  affectionate  slangy  banter 
were,  to  quote  the  boy,  "Sure  the  purest  San 
Francisco,  not  London!" 

Next  morning  he  had  to  leave  by  seven-thirty 
— but  a  brief  delay  in  the  train's  departure 
brought  him  back  from  Victoria  In  breathless 
haste  for  the  three  minutes  this  gave  him  at  Num- 
ber 7.  Who  but  Harry  would  have  bought  the 
taxi-man,  "body,  soul,  and  bonnet,"  driving  like 
mad  across  London  for  the  chance  of  "three  min- 
utes with  his  Irish  Family?" 

We  hurried  him  off.  A  moment  might  mean  a 
lost  train,  a  lost  boat,  failure  to  report  his  return 
on  time.  The  taxi-man  grinned  as  the  tall  soldier, 
glowing,  radiant,  flung  open  the  door.  It  was 
still  early  morning  in  the  quiet  of  Lansdowne 
Road,  the  lovely  green  of  June  trees  behind  that 
laughing  cavalier. 

This  was  to  be  our  recollection  of  him. 


The  Laughing  Cavalier 


XI 

RETURN  TO  FRANCE 

To  Lucile. 

Belgium,  2nd  July,  191 6. 

Dearest, 

First  of  all,  I  hope  you  got  my  cable  from 
London  on  leave.  I  knew  you  would  be  worried, 
and  sent  it  to  allay  your  fears  on  the  long  interval 
which  followed  my  letter  of  the  30th  May, — and 
the  greater  anxiousness  which  would  follow  the 
receipt  of  the  next  one  written  three  weeks  later. 
I  hope  that  the  assurance  that  I  was  on  leave  and 
all  O.  K.  on  the  24th  of  June,  v/ill  have  tided 
over  this  anxiety,  and  from  now  on  I  hope  that 
I'll  feel  up  to  my  usual  weekly  shouts.  With  a 
little  luck,  I  feel  sure  that  my  recovery  will  take 
a  normal  course,  and  that  my  tone  of  thought 
will  become  daily  more  cheerful.  And  as  it  can- 
not but  reflect  itself  In  my  letters,  you  will  feel 
happier  after  each  one,  dearest  sister. 

I  had  a  most  memorable  leave.  The  meeting 
with  the  dear  old  Skipper  and  the  six  days  In  his 
company  were  a  great  event  In  our  friendship. 
Dear  old  Tommy  was  up,  of  course,  for  four 
days,  and  I  think  enjoyed  himself  very  much.  The 
one  who  does  me  more  good  than  any  one  in 
England    (except    my    beloved    Stepmother)     is 

265 


266         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

Clarence  Carrigan,  Yankee  Consul.  He  and  the 
Skipper  and  I  have  struck  up  a  most  joyous  union 
— we've  gone  so  far  as  to  form  the  American 
Society  of  B.F.C.'s  (I'll  explain  one  day;  it  is  a 
glorious  joke!)  to  which  Erny  is  to  be  admitted 
when  we  reunite  inside  the  Golden  Gate.  No 
other  need  apply. 

I  dined  one  evening  with  Colonel  Winston 
Churchill  and  afterwards  to  the  theatre.  He  is 
going  to  place  the  Skipper  if  it  can  be  done — and 
if  it's  utterly  impossible,  he  (the  Skipper)  will 
have  the  full  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  he  did 
his  utmost  to  help. 

I  returned  from  leave  in  company  with  a  very 
decent  Australian  Gunner  Captain,  whom  I'd  gone 
over  with.  We  took  it  easy,  stopped  a  whole  day 
and  night  in  Boulogne,  making  up  lost  sleep  and 
came  comfortably  up  to  the  line  the  next  day. 

A  rather  pleasant  surprise  awaited  my  arrival, 
for  I  found  Nelson  Zambra  the  new  commander 
of  the  Section.  I've  known  him  a  year  and  more, 
and  he  is  a  good  Indian.  The  men  of  the  Sec- 
tion are  a  very  good  lot — there's  nothing  wrong 
v/ith  the  horses,  and  so  I  don't  know  why  things 
shouldn't  go  very  well  indeed.  The  other  subal- 
tern is  a  chap  who  came  out  in  January  and  has 
been  smashed  up  somewhat  in  the  same  way  as 
myself. 

Already — although  the  sound  of  a  shell  still 
sends  my  heart  action  up  to  approximately  a  thou- 
sand a  minute — I  am  beginning  to  take  a  more 
normal  view  of  things.  The  moments  of  depres- 
sion come  farther  apart — and  the  rest  of  the  time 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      267 

I  see  things  In  a  much  more  endurable  light.  I 
realise  that  I  must  be  philosophical  about  it. 
Steady  Is  the  word — and  we'll  see  the  great  work 
through  to  the  end  yet.  (And  no  doubt  live  to 
brag  about  it!) 

So-long,  for  a  few  days.     I  have  a  hunch  that 
I'll  want  to  write  again  soon. 

Devotedly, 

Habs. 


To  E.  C.  O'S. 

Belgium,   5th  July,   19 16. 

Dearest  Stepmother, 

Say  whatever  you  like  to  Gookle  now — I  have 
not  been  able  to  write  very  much  of  It — I  know 
beforehand  the  volume  it  would  run  to  if  I  set 
about  putting  my  thoughts  of  the  evil  month  of 
June  19 1 6  onto  paper.  So  I'm  not  going  to  try 
it.    Will  hit  the  high  spots  for  her  later. 

Don't  worry  about  me  from  now — I  am  feeling 
much  better.  This  does  not  mean  that  I'm  not 
going  to  write  you  as  full  an  account  of  the  proc- 
ess as  I  can,  I'll  start  any  old  time  now.  The 
thing  I  am  afraid  of,  when  I  do  start.  Is  that 
because  of  the  nature  of  the  thing  It  will  all  be 
talk  of  self  in  my  letters — The  Great  H.  A.  B. — 
I, — Me, — Myself, — In  short  the  thing  that  has 
rendered  my  twenty-four  naively  egotistical  years 
so  screamingly  funny  in  the  light  of  recent  events. 
If  I  were  a  god  to  see  it  all — I  must  have  split 
my  sides  over  the  spectacle  of  the  would-be  sol- 
dier of  fortune — this  last  month;  but,  filling  the 


268         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

uniform  myself,  I've  more  often  wept.  Now  it 
is  to  laugh  and  thank  Heaven  for  the  disillusion- 
ment— since  my  luck  seems  to  have  outlasted  it. 
But  as  I  say,  I'm  afraid  it's  going  to  be  bad,  writ- 
ing this  way  about  myself — one  must  get  away 
from  it — sink  oneself  into  the  work  which  must 
go  on. 

Surely  you  haven't  wanted  me  to  be  shoved 
back  from  what  ought  to  be  my  share  of  the  work? 
I  think  that  paragraph  was  to  soothe  my  spirit 
over  what  is  done.  If  you  can  pray,  and  mean 
it,  I  believe  it  becomes  an  influence — if  it  be  not 
for  yourself.- — If  that's  right,  "Pagan  or  Puri- 
tan" matters  not  a  bit. 

Do  you  know  I  thought  that  Gookle  must  have 
known  of  my  bad  time — It  hurt  so  much  I  thought 

she  couldn't  fail  to  feel  It 

Best  love  from 

Harry. 


To  Lucile, 

8  th  July,  1916. 

Dearest, 

I  had  the  loveliest  dream  about  you  last  night 
that  you  could  Imagine.  Got  away  for  a  week, 
and  walked  in  on  you  in  some  dream  castle  of 
home  that  was  a  combination  of  the  Airship 
(Davy's  house)  and  Bunny  Hutch  (Lucile's). 
You  were  on  the  second  story  porch — lovely  as 
a  rose,  and  with  the  emotion  of  eighteen  months' 
separation  shining  out  of  your  eyes — and  I  just 
chucked  off  my  gas  helmet  and  belt — climbed  up 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      269 

the  side  of  the  house  and  grabbed  you  in  my  arms. 
It  was  very  sweet. 

We've  been  moving  about  a  little,  but  have  re- 
turned, and  to-night  we  are  ''tenting  on  the  old 
camp  ground"  which  has  been  considerably 
mussed  about,  by  a  three  days'  stay  of  some  colo- 
nial troops. 

I  am  feeling  better  every  day  now — though  not 
just  in  the  mood  for  a  long  letter — which  you  will 
understand. 

They  talk  of  holding  up  all  correspondence  for 
six  weeks.  I  don't  think  they  will,  but  if  it  hap- 
pens, you  won't  worry.  Stepmother  would  let  you 
know  right  away,  of  course. 

Fondest  love,  dearest, 

Habs. 


To  E.  C,  O'S. 

8th  July,  1 91 6. 

Dearest  Stepmother, 

For  the  love  of  Mike!  don't  lengthen  the  in- 
terval between  your  letters  any  more  than  you 
have  to — it  is  too  great  a  joy  to  deprive  me  of 
lightly.  As  to  the  other  side  of  the  action,  I  don't 
know — Frankly,  I  don't  believe  I  could  keep  a 
promise  to  send  word  daily — the  only  daily  rite 
I've  ever  been  able  to  perform  faithfully  is  a 
*'Hail  Mary"  nightly  for  Gookie,  that  I  promised 
when  I  came  to  the  war. 


270        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

You're  dead  right  about  that  money  matter — » 
It's  rotten  to  get  money  back  that  has  been  given 
In  love.  Money's  dangerous  stuff  anyway — splits 
up  families  and  has  other  unpleasant  results. 

I  had  the  shock  of  my  life  to-night.  Picked 
up  an  Australian  magazine  called  Life,  left  behind 
here  with  an  old  bunch,  and  opening  it  in  the  mid- 
dle started  to  read  down  a  column  under  a  sub- 
heading "Firing  on  the  Stretcher  Bearers" — 
Thought  It  read  familiar  and  turned  back  to  the 
title  of  the  article  a  page  back  "Fighting  As  the 
Fighters  See  It"  "An  American  Diary  of  a  Five 
Day's  Battle"  by  Lieutenant  H.  A.  Butters!  I 
almost  sank  through  the  floor — It  was  that 
damned  Argonaut  letter  copied.  Very  glad  I  got 
ahold  of  It  first — I've  pitched  It  away. 

My  old  battery  Commander  In  C-107,  Captain 
Wurtele,  has  just  been  given  command  of  the  37th 
Antl-AIrcraft  battery  and  wants  me  to  join  him 
there.  I  shall  probably  do  so  In  the  next  month 
or  two.  It  Is  about  as  disgustingly  safe  as  the 
D.  A.  C.  but  I  believe  It  is  extremely  Interesting 
work  and  he's  crazy  about  It.  I  won't  write 
home  about  this  until  I  go  there,  so  don't  mention 
it  yet. 


To  Lucile. 

Belgium,  15th  July,  191 6. 

Dearest, 

Your  letter  of  June  25th  in  to-day's  mail — you 
guessed  right — Tom,  the  Skipper  and  I,  also  H.  P. 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      271 

Bradford  were  In  Piccadilly  that  Sunday  afternoon 
together.     Good  guess. 

But  look  here,  sister  mine,  where  do  you  get 
this  stuff  about  my  coming  home?  You  seem  to 
look  for  It  pretty  soon,  yet  you  couldn't  have 
heard  of  the  commencement  of  our  offensive  In  the 
Somme  when  you  wrote  that  letter.  It's  a  new 
tone  for  you  to  take  entirely. 

Mind,  dearest,  I'm  no  pessimist — and  now  of 
all  times  I  feel  tremendously  encouraged  about  an 
earlier  termination  of  the  war  than  we  have 
looked  for.  If  we  can  keep  on  as  we  are  going 
now  until  the  winter  closes  down  on  us,  there  Is 
no  shadow  of  a  doubt  but  that  It  will  put  an  aw- 
ful crimp  Into  Germany  and  probably  a  worse 
one  Into  Austria.  It  Is  hoped  that.  In  this  case, 
Germany  will  give  us  peace  on  our  terms  before 
we  have  to  open  next  summer's  campaign.  This 
seems  to  me  most  unlikely  (and  don't  quote  It), 
but  I  do  think  that  we  might  be  able  to  finish  the 
job  some  time  In  19 17.  As  far  as  my  return  Is 
concerned,  the  only  plan  I've  ever  made  about 
It  Is  to  avoid  the  trans-continental  journey  If  pos- 
sible— and  If  there's  any  way  of  getting  back  by 
sea,  I'll  take  It.  But  all  this  Is  considerably  In 
the  future. 

There  are  guests  In  the  mess  and  everybody's 
shouting  so  that  I  can't  hear  myself  think.  Will 
probably  add  more  later. 

Devotedly, 

Habs. 


272         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

To  Lucile. 

France,  23rd  July,  1916. 

Dearest, 

Three  letters  from  you  to-day 

Leave  to  return  home  Is  out  of  the  que^stlon, 
dearest,  these  people  have  been  too  kind  to  me  as 
it  is,  to  bother  them  further — and  besides,  I  have 
no  wish  to  see  home  again  until  the  war  is  won. 
You  are  the  only  one  who  understands — at  all. 
To  the  others  it  is  some  far  off  dream  of  exciting 
news  to  read  about.  What  does  it  mean  to  them ! 
NOTHING  AT  ALL !  They  don't  realise  what 
England  Is  standing  for  any  more  than  they  un- 
derstand what  made  the  moon !  Tell  them  that 
she  Is  standing  for  THEIR  freedom  and  right  to 
live  In  the  world  free  from  the  rule  of  the  Prus- 
sian brute,  and  they'll  laugh  at  you  I    Ask  'em 

There's  no  use  going  on  with  this  tirade — 
they're  all  right  and  just  the  same  as  these  people 
were  before  the  war.  Let  a  danger  to  the  States 
appear,  and  they'd  all  come  up  to  scratch;  but  It 
takes  time  and  suffering  to  learn  the  price  of  war. 

I'm  feeling  quite  all  right — don't  worry  about 
my  nerves.  I've  had  no  breakdown  like  your  own 
terrible  experience;  I've  only  been  about  half 
scared  to  death — that's  all. 

Devotedly, 

Habs. 


XII 

TWO  BOYS 

It  does  not  happen  to  every  one  to  know,  well, 
and  at  the  same  time,  two  extraordinary  personal- 
ities. 

The  writer  may  be  accused  of  exaggeration  in 
claiming  two  "stepsons"  of  such  unusual  calibre 
as  Harry  Butters  and  Gerard  Garvin.  Perhaps 
only  the  incalculable  drama  of  the  Great  War 
could  have  made  possible  the  intimate  association 
in  one  mind  of  two  such  beloved  and  dissimilar 
and  powerful  characters. 

And  the  generosity  of  a  fourth  factor  made  the 
connection  tangible;  put  what  is  hard  to  speak  into 
the  spoken  word;  turned,  as  it  were,  an  indefinable 
bond  into  a  breathing  link.  The  boys  never  met, 
but  they  are  to  live  together  in  a  thousand  hearts. 
The  father  of  the  one  who  was  first  to  die  could 
write  of  the  other,  who  so  soon  followed,  the  ap- 
preciation with  which  this  volume  opens. 


273 


XIII 

GERARD 

"Poets  of  England,  where  are  you  to-day? 
If  I,  removed  by  nigh  three  hundred  years, 
From  English   soil,   share  thus  your  hopes  and  fears, 
And,  young  no  longer,  plan  to  join  the  fray, 
What  swords  are  at  your  gates  that  you  delay 
Your  passage  to  the  thundering  frontiers? 
The  heart  of  Bruce  was  hurled  beyond  the  spears, 
And  one  as  great  hath  shown  you  now  the  way. 

Say  not,  'Why  place  a  weapon  in  his  hand?' 
Say  not,  *He  could  have  written  many  a  book 
To  render  better  service  to  his  land.' 
There  comes  a  time  when  sterner  things  must  be, 
And  all  the  words  of  Byron  and  of  Brooke 
Match  not  the  stand  they  took  for  liberty." 

Some  one  sent  this  sonnet  of  George  Sterling's 
from  California  to  Harry.  Where  the  heading 
was  "The  Death  of  Rupert  Brooke"  he  changed 
It  to  'The  Death  of  Gerard  Garvin,"  and  at  the 
end  he  altered  the  lines  to 

"And  all  the  words  of  Garvin  and  of  Brooke 
Match  not  the  stand  they  took  for  liberty." 

Harry  In  turn  sent  It  from  the  trenches  to  Lon- 
don, where  It  fluttered  In,  a  late  July  evening,  to 
friends  who  loved  both  boys,  and  who  sat  In  a  high 
Chelsea   window,   watching  twilight  shroud  the 

274 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT      275 

tranquil  Thames,  talking  of  Gerard,  who  was 
killed  the  week  before,  and  of  Harry,  who  had 
but  four  weeks  to  live. 

The  boys  had  never  met.  Never  were  two 
more  widely  differing  types.  Both  brilliant,  very 
tall,  comely  to  look  upon.  Both  beloved  beyond 
the  ordinary.  One,  American,  dark,|  bubbling 
with  talk.  One,  English,  blonde,  silent.  Both  of 
Ireland,  though  the  American  traced  the  most  dis- 
tant of  descents,  and  the  Englishman  was  of  direct 
Irish  parentage. 

For  many  months  they  moved  on  the  same 
"thundering  frontiers,"  within  hearing  of  each 
other's  guns.  They  were  killed,  one  five  weeks 
after  the  other.  They  lie  now,  not  seven  miles 
apart,  on  that  wide  battlefield  of  the  Somme. 

Harry  was  twenty-two  when  he  reached  us  in 
London,  but  Gerard  was  only  fourteen  when  he 
first  came  into  our  lives,  in  Oxfordshire.  A  tall 
reserved  boy,  apparently  destined,  like  many  sons 
of  brilliant  fathers,  to  silence.  Yet  when  he  talked, 
there  was  an  ease,  a  vividness,  that  pertain  to 
genius.  To  an  American  he  seemed  typically 
English,  as  one  associates  that  race  with  uncom- 
municative cold  withdrawal.  But  underneath 
there  was  a  tenderness  that  became,  when  one 
found  it  out.  Inexpressibly  touching.  One  learned 
that  this  very  withdrawal  masked  not  only  the  in- 
tolerance of  youth,  but  the  tolerance  and  benignity 
of  a  mature  mind. 

The  boy  had  genius.  One  may  say  this  with 
certainty  only  now  and  then.     In  Gerard's  case 


276         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

one  says  It  definitely.  Had  he  lived,  he  would 
have  molded  finally  into  a  great  man,  a  world 
figure. 

Educated  at  Westminster  from  1908  to  19 14; 
easily  the  most  brilliant  mentality  there;  curiously 
too,  their  champion  fencer  (he  won  the  cup  for 
his  school  twice  at  Aldershot)  ;  author  of  some 
clever  papers  for  the  EUsabethan,  the  Westmin- 
ster College  Monthly;  winner  of  an  Oxford  schol- 
arship; a  genuine  musician  .  .  .  many  the  scrib- 
bled musical  theme  we  used  to  find  tossed  aside  In 
that  little  house  under  the  Chilterns !  .  .  .  A  poet 
at  eighteen.  A  profound  historian  at  nineteen. 
A  captain  at  twenty  .  .  .  for  the  Great  War  cut 
across  that  dream  of  a  scholar's  happiness  at  Ox- 
ford, and  Gerard  was  amongst  the  first  to  go. 

He  carried  his  mental  aloofness  into  the 
trenches.  It  was  part  of  his  genius,  that,  just  as 
he  could  have  been  a  musician,  an  historian,  a 
critic,  a  statesman,  a  journalist,  so  he  showed  the 
makings  of  a  great  soldier.  One  sees  him,  tall, 
pale,  the  fine  profile  bent  a  little  over  a  volume  of 
Meredith  or  Froissart,  the  keen  eye  turning  nev- 
ertheless at  Intervals  toward  his  men,  or  the  dis- 
tant enemy  lines,  or  the  Immediate  route  of  his 
own  advance.  He  took  Milton  with  him  into  the 
dug-outs.  He  wrote,  in  brief  moments  back  of 
the  firing  line,  an  astonishing  essay  on  Turenne's 
strategy. 

On  the  night  of  July  22nd,  19 16,  he  led  two 
companies  through  the  dark,  over  broken  un- 
known country,  to  attack  the  German  lines;  his 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT:      277 

only  guide  a  square  inch  of  paper,  with  the  prob- 
able positions  roughly  indicated.  A  night  out  of 
the  Inferno,  in  that  devastated  country;  the  re- 
peated slow  advance  into  the  blackness;  desperate 
appeals  for  officers  from  a  regiment  north  of 
them,  but  unavailing,  for  now  Gerard  and  a  young 
subaltern  were  the  only  ones  left  to  lead  this  les- 
sening company. 

Did  the  tall  figure,  straightening  the  weary 
stumbling  line,  show  too  plainly  upon  some  com- 
parative brightness?  At  that  moment  youth,  and 
the  devotion  of  youth,  stand  outlined  against  the 
murky  horror  of  war  .  .  .  strange  foreign  set- 
ting for  that  English  spirit!  Then  fall.  To 
breathe  a  little  longer.  To  send  back  the  message, 
''Carry  on!"     Then  silence. 

Too  near  the  German  lines  for  recovery,  the 
beautiful  white  face  looks  up  for  many  days  to 
those  unfamiliar  skies. 

The  boy  was  twenty.  Can  the  loss  of  such  be 
measured? 

Harry,  though  he  had  never  known  Gerard,  had 
been  received  like  a  son  in  the  Garvin  household; 
reverenced  Gerard's  father;  was  to  owe  him  the 
recognition  that  followed  his  own  death  (even 
this  little  book  is  directly  due  to  him) .  i\nd  now, 
five  miles  away,  and  soon  to  follow,  salutes 
Gerard: 

"What  a  magnificent  end  it  is  for  his  life!" 


278         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.F.A. 
To  E.  C.  O'S. 

France,  28th  July,  1916. 

Dearest  Stepmother, 

Have  not  been  receiving  any  mail  from  you 
during  the  past  few  days,  so  the  last  one  I  !iave 
to  answer  is  the  one  with  the  chapter  out  of  the 
O'Soulivan's  life.*  I  enjoyed  that  immensely — 
the  talks  of  our  dear  San  Francisco  and  all  the 
old  names — Ross  Valley, — San  Pedro, — Point 
Lobos, — the  feuds  and  the  shootings, — the  swim- 
ming in  the  bay.  Lord,  it  was  homelike!  and  it 
seemed  like  a  young  man,  writing  it  to-day. 

I  haven't  yet  got  last  Sunday's  Observer,  as  It 
still  goes  to  the  battery,  but  I'm  going  to  ride  over 
for  my  mail  this  afternoon. 

I  wonder  if  he  (Mr.  Garvin)  feels  as  good  as 
he  did  a  week  ago? 


To  E.  C.  O'S. 

France,  28th  July,  1916. 

Dear  Stepmother, 

I  have  just  read  the  news  of  Ged  Garvin's 
death.  It  Is  terrible — I  couldn't  possibly  write 
to  Jim  or  to  his  mother — it's  bad  enough  to  have 
to  write  to  you  about  it,  and  when  I  know  your 
heart  must  be  aching  so  hard,  I  can't  think  of 
what  they  must  be  feeling. 

*  An  interview  with  Denis  O'Sullivan  in  an  old  copy  of  one 
of  T.  P.  O'Connor's  papers. 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      279 

I  pray  that  you  and  they  may  be  comforted 
somehow,  by  the  thought  of  what  a  magnificent 
end  It  Is  for  his  life — the  greatest  luck  that  can 
come  to  any  man.  Will  you  tell  them  some  day 
how  much  I  grieve  for  him?  I  dread  to  hear  of 
the  results  at  home. 

All  the  love  and  sympathy  in  the  world  for 
you,  dear  stepmother, 

Harry. 


XIV 

AUGUST  LETTERS 

To  E.  C.  O'S. 

France,  5th  August,  1916. 

I  have  given  your  name  and  address  to  my 
Captain,  to  notify  you  right  away  in  case  of  my 
being  wounded,  and  I  need  not  harp  on  the  fact 
that  the  same  is  an  unlikely  contingency  in  the 
Column.  I  have  told  him  something  about  you 
so  that  he  would  write  you  a  thoroughly  sympa- 
thetic letter.  His  name  is  Nelson  Zambra,  and 
he  is  a  very  good  Indian — member  of  the  Ba^th 
Club — and  a  man  I  always  liked. 

loth  August,  1 91 6. 

It  IS  marvellous  to  me  how  Garvin  holds  to  his 
mission,  his  words  are  unshaken  as  ever,  and  it  is 
indeed  a  noble  song  that  he  sings. 

14th  August,   1916. 

Sorry  I've  not  been  able  to  keep  my  promise 
about  writing  you  of  the  way  I  feel.  Reason  is,  I 
haven't  felt  like  writing  at  all.  Got  off  the  first 
decent  letter  of  the  last  two  months  to  Gookie 
yesterday,  and  it  was  only  about  five  of  these  dinky 
papers. 

I  feel  about  the  same.  Don't  seem  to  have  my- 
280 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT      281 

self  In  hand,  and  am  tired — it's  not  lack  of  sleep 
either.  I  suppose  one  always  recovers  nervous 
strength  slowly.  Tell  Gookle  nothing  to  worry 
her  please,  and  by  the  same  token,  don't  worry 
yourself.  I  am  not  at  all  unhappy  and  I  think 
I  am  going  to  be  all  right  again  before  the  win- 
ter. 


To  Lucile, 

France,  8th  August,  19 16. 

Dearest, 

Now  that  I  have  got  over  the  first  nasty  shake- 
up  and  begun  to  sleep  again  and  to  use  my  common 
sense — which  has  happened  in  about  three  weeks 
— I  am  all  right  as  long  as  I  keep  clear  of  the 
shelling;  but  the  sound  of  a  crump  coming  through 
the  air  puts  the  wind  up  me  in  a  most  ungodly 
fashion,  and  I'm  afraid  will  continue  to  do  so  now 
for  many  a  day. 

I  still  don't  feel  much  like  talking  about  it; — 
in  fact,  it's  left  me  with  an  intense  disgust  of  talk- 
ing about  myself  at  all — and  this  is  not  because 
I'm  mad  at  myself.  I'm  not,  any  longer — but  just 
because  personal  considerations  of  any  kind  be- 
come so  damned  trivial  in  the  light  of  the  great 
work  that  is  going  on.  And  still  I  realise  that 
you  must  be  worrying  about  me  all  the  time  and 
waiting  to  know  what  my  attitude  is  going  to  be — 
so  that  you  may  be  able  to  judge  whether  I  have 
gained  or  lost  by  the  experience.  I  must  try  to 
tell  you. 

Myself,  I  am  content  with  what  has  happened 


282         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

— Perhaps  that  will  tell  you  more  than  anything. 
I  haven't  got  any  bitterness  nor  any  regrets.  I 
am  glad  that  I  was  able  to  give  nine  months'  fight- 
ing service  that  was  as  good  as  the  next  man's, 
and  now  Fm  quite  satisfied  to  be  doing  the  work 
of  the  Column.  I  want  you  to  know  all  about  it, 
of  course,  dearest,  and  probably  after  the  summer 
fighting  is  finished,  and  we  settle  down  again  to 
what  we  hope  will  be  the  last  winter  of  the  War, 
my  letters  to  you  will  become  lengthier  and  more 
analytical — but  for  the  present  I  repeat — sufl&ce. 

Should  I  be  called  up  to  replace  a  casualty,  as 
is  of  course  quite  on  the  boards  in  such  times  as 
these,  I  feel  that  I  could  summon  the  necessary 
strength  to  do  the  job — but  I  shall  not  go  unless 
I  am  needed,  because  it  would  be  a  strain  out  of 
all  proportion  to  my  present  strength. 

All  this  ought  to  reassure  you  of  my  mental  well 
being.  For  the  rest,  I  am  sleeping  soundly,  eating 
tremendously,  drinking  not  at  all,  and  getting 
plenty  of  interest  out  of  life. 

My  Captain  is  a  particularly  nice  chap.  Nelson 
Zambra,  a  member  of  the  Bath  Club  which  papa 
used  to  belong  to,  and  he  is  thoroughly  compan- 
ionable with  me.  And  the  Column  provides 
plenty  of  work  to  keep  us  all  busy  . 

I  hope  that  Fll  be  able  to  get  back  to  my  old 

regularity  In  letters  now,  dearest,  and  although 

they  will  be  short  and  contain  no  news — if  they 

keep  cheerful  I  know  that's  what  you'll  like  best. 

Fondest,  dearest  love 

from 
Your  Boy. 


LETTERS  283 

To  Lucile, 

France,  17th  August,  1916. 

Dearest, 

Lots  of  mail  from  you  to-day — bless  you  for- 
ever— including  Carey's  long  and  sympathetic  plea 
to  come  home.  As  I've  lately  explained  the  im- 
possibility of  that,  I  won't  answer  again,  but  I'm 
none  the  less  touched  at  her  dear  concern.^  Re- 
assure her  that  I'm  going  to  be  all  right  without 

it. 

Re  the  tobacco — none  has  come  through  yet,  but 
I've  no  doubt  it  will  in  good  time  and  by  the  way, 
dearest,  it  almost  makes  me  laugh  to  think  of  the 
huge  amount  you  are  sending.  Of  course  some 
will  be  lost  I  suppose,  but  once  it  starts  to  arrive, 
I  shall  certainly  never  be  short  again,  which  is 
something  to  look  forward  to. 

Don't  send  any  papers.  I  always  smoke  French 
ones  which  cost  me  a  penny  here  and  would  cost 
you  ten  cents  at  home — and 

Don't  send  any  to  Tom!  Its  importation  into 
England  is  forbidden  by  the  new  law,  and  it  will 
all  be  confiscated.  It's  only  by  virtue  of  my  being 
at  the  Front  that  you  can  send  it  through  to  me. 
I  will  take  care  of  Tom's  supply — if  I  have  to 
smuggle  it  to  him.     Never  fear ! 

And  that  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  question  I've 
been  meaning  to  ask  you  a  long  while,  namely: 
What  are  the  Colonel  and  Dobbie  going  to  do 
after  their  three  years'  term  at  Mare  Island  comes 
to  an  end  next  Spring?     I'm  awfully  anxious  to 


284         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

know  all  their  plans,  so  don't  fail  to  pass  the  word 
along  to  me. 

Fondest  love,  dearest, 

from 

Habs. 


Mid  August  passed,  and  Harry  was  still  with 
the  Ammunition  Column,  and  in  consequence,  to 
use  his  own  words,  "disgustingly  safe." 

But  on  the  20th  he  wrote  to  the  Chaplain  the 
letter  which  follows.  Only  two  days  later  he  was 
called  back,  and  to  Colonel  Coates'  brigade.  In 
the  grim  commonplace  of  these  tragic  times  .  .  . 
how  easily  we  bandy  words  about!  ...  he  was 
to  "replace  a  casualty." 


To 

Capt.  George  R.  Milner, 
Chaplain  to  the  Forces. 


Sunday,  August  20th,  1916. 


Dear  Padre, 

These  are  troublous  times  with  many  uncertain- 
ties. Any  day  I  may  have  to  replace  a  casualty 
in  one  of  the  batteries — and  if  I  should  happen  to 
get  wiped  out,  there  are  one  or  two  things  that 
I  should  like  done  on  account  of  my  people — par- 
ticularly of  my  sister,  Mrs.  R.  A.  Bray,  whose  ad- 
dress is  323  Bonita  Avenue,  Piedmont,  Cahfornia, 
U.  S.  A. 

Just  write  her  a  nice  cheering  letter  and  give 
her  the  pertinent  details.     How  I  got  it — what  I 


LETTERS   AND    COMMENT       285 

was  doing — when  I  went  up  from  the  D.  A.  C. 
(where  she  knows  I  have  been  since  my  nervous 
smash) — location  of  grave,  etc.,  etc.  She  is 
mother,  sister  and  everything  else  that  is  dear  in 
the  world  to  me,  and  she  will  get  little  news  other 
than  what  you  send  her. 

Please  reiterate  to  her  how  much  my  heart  was 
in  this  great  cause,  and  how  more  than  willing  I 
am  to  give  my  life  to  it.  Say  all  the  nice  things 
you  can  about  me,  hut  no  lies — and  you  might  get 
Colonel  Coates  (if  it  happens  in  his  brigade,  to 
send  her  a  line). 

Try  and  have  the  Roman  Catholic  padre  plant 
me  and  you  can  tell  her  that — it  will  give  her 
greater  consolation  than  anything — and  please  put 
after  my  name  on  the  wooden  cross — the  bare  fact 
that  I  was  an  American.  I  want  this  particularly, 
and  want  her  to  know  that  it  has  been  done  so. 
Thanks  and  love,  Old  Boy, 

H.  A.  B. 


To  Liicile — Received  three  weeks  later, 
or  a  week  after  the  news  of  his  death. 

France,  22nd  August,  1916. 

Dearest, 

What  a  lot  of  your  dear  letters  have  come  this, 
week, — and  the  last — even  with  its  bad  news  of 
Margie's  (his  sister  Marguerite)  being  laid  up — 
the  best  of  all.  I  surely  hope  she  is  much  better. 
Give  her  my  love  and  wishes  for  her  happiness. 

I  think  I  have  set  your  mind  somewhat  at  rest 


286        HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

already  as  to  the  nature  of  my  trouble,  so  that  you 
win  no  longer  be  picturing  me  to  yourself  enduring 
any  repetition  of  your  own  terrible  time — and  I 
think  the  tone  of  my  letters  cannot  have  failed  to 
show  you  an  Increasing  cheerfulness.  May  God 
forgive  me  for  ever  allowing  you  to  think  I  was 
suffering  as  you  supposed.  One  Is  so  damned  sel- 
fish and  thoughtless  In  the  brief  moments  of  even 
a  hght  mental  depression,  that  one  makes  things 
look  blacker  than  they  are. 

One  point  that  you  mention  forms  a  rather 
remarkable  coincidence.  Two  months  ago  when 
I  was  feeling  the  worst — In  fact,  at  the  very  time 
that  I  broke  down — I  w^ould  have  given  anything 
in  the  world  for  the  strength  to  hang  on  to  myself 
and  continue  on  In  my  battery.  I  knew  that  it 
was  utterly  beyond  the  strength  that  was  in  me, 
and  I  knew  that  If  I  were  as  you  are,  I  might  be 
able  to  draw  this  courage  from  outside  of  me — 
In  fact,  from  the  Church. 

I  went  over,  and  spent  an  afternoon  with  my 
dear  friend.  Father  Doyle,  and  for  hours  we  went 
over  It  all.  Before  I  left,  I  even  made  my  Con- 
fession to  him,  for  I  earnestly  craved  help  of  God. 

And  this  Is  the  place  where  the  little  Item  comes 
in  that  will  please  you. 

I  took  my  Rosary  to  bed  with  me,  night  after 
night,  and  drew  comfort  and  consolation  from 
Its  simple  beads.  It  seemed  to  link  me  with  you 
— and  with  Mother — and  with  that  other  Blessed 
Mother — that  she  and  you  love  so  well. 

And  this  brings  me  around  to  another  tragedy 


LETTERS   AND   COMMENT      287 

of  the  War — (Remembering  always  that  tragedy 
is  so  often  the  highest  good) — Father  Doyle  is 
dead — Always  in  the  front  trenches  when  the  shell- 
ing was  heaviest,  he  was  terribly  wounded  three 
days  ago,  tending  some  of  the  dying  that  had  been 
caught  in  the  fierce  counter-shelling  that  precedes 
the  attack.  They  got  him  out  the  same  evening, 
and  down  to  the  dressing  station,  but  there  was 
no  hope  of  his  recovery.  He  died  the  same  night, 
after  great  suffering,  I  suppose. 

The  last,  long  rest  and  the  reward  for  courage 
and  fidelity  are  before  him  now — his  suffering  all 
behind.  God  will  certainly  rest  his  soul — but  his 
regiment  will  miss  him  sorely. 

He  was  buried  this  morning — I  was  unable  to 
get  to  his  funeral,  being  up  the  line  with  ammu- 
nition. 

You  are  quite  right  about  Dobbie,  dearest — 
she's  all  you  say.   .   .  . 

If  my  chances  were  as  good  as  hers  In  the  next 
world,  I'd  feel  I  had  too  much  of  a  cinch  on  it. 
Fondest,  dearest, 

from 

Habs. 


To  E.  C,  O'S, 

France,  21st  August,  191 6. 

Kathleen  Norris's  letter  is  perfectly  lovely — 
yes,  I  love  to  read  other  people's  letters,  when 
there's  no  objection.  Not  so  much  at  home,  but 
when  I'm  away  like  this.     Getting  it  enclosed  in 


288         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

one  of  your  letters,  it  gains  charm  and  interest 
enough  from  the  privilege  to  make  it  a  treat. 

No,  I  haven't  enough  to  do,  and  have  far  too 
much  time  to  think.  But  with  luck  I'll  join  my 
old  skipper  in  Anti-Aircraft  in  a  month  or  two, 
and  that  will  be  an  interesting  and  self-respecting 
job  "for  the  duration."  As  if  it  mattered  a  damn, 
when  the  war's  all  that  counts  to  us  all ! 
Love, 

Harry. 

To  E,  C.  O'S. 

France,  22nd  August,  191 6. 

Dearest  Stepmother, 

Just  going  up  to  one  of  the  batteries  to  replace 
a  casualty.  It's  too  bad  that  it  comes  while  I'm 
in  bad  shape,  but  it  can't  be  helped  and  it's, surely 
what  I'm  here  for  after  all.  Don't  worry  any 
more  than  you  can  help,  and  keep  on  writing  to 
me. 

Devotedly  and  always. 

Your  Stepson. 


France,  26th  August,  1916. 

Dearest  Stepmother, 

Nothing  to  write — just  a  word  to  let  you  know 
I  am  well.    My  address  here  is :  B — 109    R.  F.  A. 

B.  E.  F. 
Mail  has  not  been  coming  through  well,  so  bet- 
ter be  sure;  address  straight  here. 

Your  devoted 

Stepson. 


PART  IV 
FINIS 


From  Captain  Nelson  Zamhra  to  E,  C.  0*S. 

I  St  Sept,   1 91 6. 

Dear  Mrs.  O'Sullivan, 

A  short  time  ago  Harry  Butters  asked  me  to 
communicate  with  you  should  anything  happen  to 
him.  Little  did  I  think  at  the  time  that  this  sad 
duty  would  devolve  on  me  so  soon. 

He  was  killed  last  night.  He  was  with  his 
guns,  and  no  one  could  have  died  in  a  nobler  way, 
or  more  in  the  execution  of  his  duty. 

I  was  his  section  commander  in  the  D.  A.  C. 
and  very  glad  I  was  when  he  returned  to  us.  He 
was  one  of  the  brightest  and  cheeriest  men  I  have 
ever  known,  and  was  always  the  life  and  soul  of 
the  mess.  He  was  always  willing  for  any  duty, 
however  unpleasant. 

We  all  realised  his  nobility  in  coming  to  the 
help  of  another  country,  entirely  of  his  own  free 
will,  and  understood  what  a  big  heart  he  had. 

Only  last  week  the  call  came  for  him  at  the 
Battery  to  replace  a  casualty,  and  he  responded 
at  once,  with  never  a  complaint,  and,  to  all  ap- 
pearances, in  the  best  of  spirits. 

I  grieve  for  you  most  deeply,  though  nothing  I 
can  say  can  adequately  express  my  sorrow  to  you. 
For  me,  I  have  lost  a  friend. 

291 


292         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

I  will  not  trouble  you  further  now,  but  a  little 
later  I  will  write  you  more  particulars,  and  tell 
you  the  location  of  his  last  resting  place,  where  we 
lay  him  to  rest  to-morrow. 

He  was  loved  by  all.  I  can  say  no  more  than 
that. 

Believe  me, 
Very  truly  yours. 

Nelson  Zambra,  Capt. 
No.  2.  Sec.  24.  D.  A.  C. 
B.  E.  F. 


From  a  letter  of  Chaplain  Milner,  C  Battery, 
loyth  Brigade  to  Lucile. 

September  2,  1916. 

".  .  .  As  you  know,  Harry  left  our  Battery  a 
short  time  ago,  and  went  to  the  Division  Ammuni- 
tion Column  for  a  rest.  He  was  sent  up  to  B/109 
a  few  days  before  his  death.  That  was  the  battery 
he  was  first  with. 

I  must  tell  you  how  much  he  was  respected  by 
all  his  officers  and  men,  not  only  for  his  cheery 
spirit — for  he  never  seemed  down-hearted — but 
also  for  his  bravery  and  courage  which  he  con- 
stantly showed  that  he  possessed.  His  heart  was 
absolutely  in  this  great  and  terrible  fight  for  free- 
dom. To  quote  his  own  words  in  the  last  note 
he  sent  me,  'You  know,'  he  says,  'how  much  my 
heart  is  in  this  gre^t  cause,  and  how  more  than 
willing  I  am  to  give  my  life  for  it.'  I  think  he 
had  a  presentiment  of  what  was  to  happen  from 


FINIS  293 

the  way  In  which  he  wrote,  but  he  went  readily  and 
cheerily  to  meet  whatever  might  befall. 

We  appreciated  to  the  highest  his  sacrifice  and 
nobleness  in  coming  over  to  England  to  fight  for 
us,  knowing  all  the  time  that  it  might  mean  the 
Great  Sacrifice.  For  those  of  us  who  may  be 
spared,  the  example  he  has  shown  us  will  remain 
in  our  minds  a  lasting  memory  of  what  in  this 
world  is  noble  and  generous.  He  has  given  us 
an  example  of  what  America  at  her  best  and 
purest  can  show  us  of  a  true,  straight,  clean-living 
gentleman. 

He  was  buried  this  afternoon  by  a  Roman  Cath- 
olic Padre  in  the  little  English  cemetery  in  the 
village  some  little  way  behind  the  firing  line,  where 
so  many  of  our  best  and  noblest  now  lie." 


From  Captain  Zamhra^s  second  letter,  September 
iSth  to  E.  C.  O'S. 

"Harry  and  another  ofl^cer  were  in  the  dugout 
at  the  gun  position.  The  Germans  were  putting 
over  a  heavy  barrage  of  gas  shells  and  the  air 
became  very  poisonous  and  oppressive.  Harry 
said,  'It's  time  we  moved  out  of  this,'  and  went 
out.  Immediately  he  was  outside,  a  gas  shell  hit 
him  direct.  Death  must  have  been  instantaneous, 
and  the  ofiicer  with  him  removed  his  gas  helmet 
to  make  sure.  So  some  little  consolation  remains 
to  us  that  he  was  spared  all  pain. 

A  Roman  Catholic  Chaplain  buried  him  beneath 
the  Union  Jack   (we  tried  to  get  an  American 


294         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

flag,  but  one  was  not  procurable  or  he  should  have 
been  honored  by  both  countries)  in  a  military 
cemetery  about  500  yards  south  of  Meaulte,  a  lit- 
tle village  a  mile  south  of  Albert.  The  graveyard 
is  under  the  care  of  the  Graves  Registration  Com- 
mission, and  his  grave  will  be  well  tended.  His 
body  was  in  a  coffin. 

There  were  many  officers  at  the  funeral,  as 
many  as  could  be  spared  from  duty,  including 
the  Staff  Captain,  representing  the  General,  and 
Colonel  Talbot,  a  detachment  from  his  battery 
and  my  section.  A  trumpeter  sounded  the  Last 
Postr 

Letter  from  E.  C,  O^S.  to  San  Francisco  friends, 

Kerry  Vor,  Britwell, 
Oxfordshire, 
September    10,    1917. 

"Do  you  remember  in  poor  Synge's  'Riders  to 
the  Sea^ — the  old  mother  says  that  now  her  last 
son  is  drowned,  she  will  be  able  to  sleep  o^  nights? 

The  harrowing  anxiety  of  every  day  in  this  time 
of  war  is  over  for  me,  too.  On  July  22,  as  you 
know,  Gerard,  my  first  stepson,  was  killed.  And 
on  August  31,  at  night,  too,  my  last — Harry  But- 
ters. They  were  both  as  dear  to  me  as  my  own — 
but  Gerard  had  his  own  people  here — he  was  not 
dependent  on  me,  while  in  a  way,  Harry  had  only 
me — his  sister  was  six  thousand  miles  away.  I 
haven't  been  able  to  say  much  of  him  these  last 
months  as  he  had  been  getting  the  carbon  copies 
of  my  letters  to  you.    Yet  it  was  so  often  on  the 


FINIS  295 

tip  of  my  fingers  to  enlarge  upon  the  boy — his 
charm,  his  capabilities. 

More  still  upon  the  drama  of  his  last  experi- 
ences— from  the  moment  when  he  burst  into  Ald- 
wych  his  first  day  in  uniform,  so  big,  so  startlingly 
handsome — above  all,  so  gay — a  shout  of  'Step- 
mother!' that  raised  the  dust  in  that  crowded, 
smoky  refuge  where  the  hundreds  of  tired  Bel- 
gians looked  around  in  astonishment  that  any 
one  left  in  the  world  could  be  so  fresh,  so  dazzling 
— through  those  months  of  his  watch  beside  his 
guns  or  directing  fire  from  his  exposed  shell-swept 
hillside — that  awful  moment  the  last  day  of  May 
when  the  enemy  found  the  range  and  poured  death 
down  upon  the  shelter  that  was  no  shelter — when 
the  other  officers  within  call  took  refuge  there, 
fourteen  in  all;  Harry,  the  youngest,  but  the  one 
who  dashed  out  under  fire  to  carry  what  was  left 
of  one  of  his  telephonists  to  the  first-aid  station — 
a  poor  mangled  mass  of  humanity,  still  breathing 
and  crying  out, — a  deed  that  in  a  smaller  war 
would  have  meant  the  Victoria  Cross,  but  in  this, 
only  one  of  a  thousand  such  daily — After  it  his 
sudden  collapse  from  the  shock — ('No  one  knew 
it,  Stepmother!  I  managed  to  bluff  it  through!') 
But  his  colonel  had  been  through  the  same  ex- 
perience and  backed  the  doctor  up  in  sending  him 
to  the  base  for  a  few  days. 

Then  his  June  leave,  luckily  due  anyway, 
brought  him  over  to  Number  7  where  he  could 
be  petted  and  taken  care  of — but  it  was  a  quiet 
Harry — no  less  clear-eyed  and  vigorous,  but  so, 
so  tired. 


296         HARRY  BUTTERS,  R.  F.  A. 

Then  Winston  Churchill  and  Garvin  trying  to 
make  him  take  three  weeks'  extra  leave,  the  boy's 
refusal,  his  return  to  France;  some  weeks  in  the 
ammunition  column,  where,  knowing  him  to  be 
comparatively  safe,  I  could  carry  an  easier  heart; 
then  a  hasty  line :  'Just  going  up  to  one  of  the  bat- 
teries to  replace  a  casualty.  It's  too  bad  it  comes 
while  I'm  in  bad  shape,  but  it  can't  be  helped,  and 
it  surely  is  what  I'm  here  for,  after  all.  Don't 
worry  any  more  than  you  can  help.' 

That  was  August  22;  only  short  notes  after 
that,  tho'  he  could  find  time  to  write,  "I'm  going 
to  try  to  get  over  to  Gerard's  grave.  If  I  can 
find  some  flowers  I'll  decorate  it  for  you." 

His  friend,  Captain  Zambra,  to  whom  he'd 
given  my  address,  could  not  have  been  with  him 
at  the  last,  for  he  also  had  had  shell-shock  and 
was  with  the  ammunition  column ;  but  he  wrote  on 
the  I  St  of  September  that  Harry  had  been  with 
his  guns  the  night  before,  when  the  call  came,  had 
gone  in  apparently  the  best  of  spirits — and  at  1 1 
that  Thursday  night  was  killed. 

I  was  in  town — went  up  Monday  and,  on  Tues- 
day, the  5th,  came  this  letter,  sent  to  Number  7. 
I  cabled  Harry's  sister,  through  Oscar  Sutro,  that 
he  died  splendidly — the  boy  himself  had  written 
when  Gerard  was  killed,  'What  a  magnificent  end 
it  is  for  his  life;  the  greatest  luck  that  can  come 
to  any  man.' 

It  has  been  so  beautiful  this  week.  I've  never 
seen  a  harvest-moon  more  wonderful.  One  can 
only  think  .  .  .  what  a  world  it  is — and  Harry 
and  Gerard  both  out  of  it." 


AFTERWORD 

It  is  six  months  since  this  little  book  was  begun, 
and  Harry^s  ''own  dear  country''  has,  as  he  so 
hoped  and  prayed,  ''come  in." 

It  is  three  years  since  England  declared  war, 
and  the  boy  stopped  suddenly  in  his  happy  prog- 
ress under  these  serene  Californian  skies  to  real- 
ise what  it  meant.  It  is  two  years  to-day  since, 
trained  and  ready,  he  left  conqueringly  for  the 
Front.    One  year  ago  to-day  he  fell. 

There  was  no  time  to  call,  like  Gerard,  "Carry 
onF*  .  .  .  that  phrase  still  unfamiliar  to  Ameri- 
can ears.  But  had  he  known,  had  there  been  time, 
would  he  not  have  called  to  the  Ten  Million,  to 
those  other  American  boys  from  the  Atlantic  to 
the  Pacific,  who  have  at  last  turned  clear  eyes 
toward  that  monstrous  struggle  between  right  and 
wrong  .  .  .  would  he  not  have  called  to  his  own, 
"Come  on''? 


San  Francisco, 
August  SI,  1917. 


297 


This  book  is  due  two   weeks  from  the  last  date  * 
stamped  below,  and  if  not  returned  or  renewed  at  or 
before  that  time  a  fine  of  five  cents  a  day  will  be  incurred. 

7h7rM 

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